The Prizefighter
by PteraWaters
Summary: All human AU. Buffy Summers is a high school senior, fighting in an underground boxing ring to make enough money to keep her family afloat, while Angel is a young private eye who can't help but want to take Buffy away from the dangerous life she's living.
1. The Ring

Chapter 1 – The Ring

When Angel O'Connor walked into the previously abandoned warehouse, the first thing he noticed was the roar of the crowd. Secondly, he noticed the smell of blood, that too-familiar scent of rusty pain and death. But he couldn't be distracted like this, he had a job to do. If he was ever going to prove to that bastard judge that he deserved the kid back from his snake of an ex, he had to get this business off the ground.

There. Ahead of him and weaving through the crowd was his target, a balding middle aged man who had been handsome once. Blonde of hair and blue of eye, the man was tall and though he carried at least twenty pounds of extra weight, Angel could understand why the man's wife thought he could be cheating on her. Mick Vohgarty, that was the man's name. Husband of Diane, father of two, suspected of seeing a younger woman on all those nights he told his wife he'd been working late. Angel chuckled silently at the excuse. If every man who told his wife he was working late actually put in those hours, America would be twice as productive as it already was.

The private detective didn't really understand this American obsession with business and the 'work hard, play hard' attitude that went along with it. He'd grown up in Ireland, Galway to be more specific, at least during the first half of his life. There men did their jobs and did them well, but everyone looked forward to the evenings and catching a drink at the neighborhood pub. He'd had to move to the States after the incident he'd rather not speak of or even think of, since it haunted his dreams every night. His aunt took him in, finished raising him the best she could. Most of his accent had been lost in the almost thirteen years since that night, but traces of it just couldn't be erased.

As Angel followed Mr. Vohgarty through the crowd, he eventually got a look at the center of the warehouse and the source of the cloying scent of blood that had Angel holding his breath and muttering a stream of curses so he wouldn't turn tail and run. There, roped off from the crowd, was a boxing ring unlike any he'd seen before. It wasn't square so much as oblong and flush with the concrete floor of the warehouse. If either of the two combatants fell, it would be onto unforgiving cement, not the springy surface of a proper boxing ring.

Getting closer, Angel realized that the boxers, who he'd mistaken for featherweights, were both women, young women. One was brunette, her hair wound and pinned tightly to her head, and fighting intensely. Although her hits were powerful, the detective could tell that she was untrained and undisciplined. She wore dark makeup that didn't seem to run even under the rivulets of sweat coursing down her face, her neck, her arms. It seemed to Angel she was one of those girls who got pushed around too many times at home as a kid and just started fighting back with reckless abandon. Without the aid of boxing gloves, the brunette was fighting a blonde, trying to get past the other girl's defenses. This other boxer fought with a grace and discipline only years of training and experience could forge, but she seemed to pull her punches, unwilling to beat the other woman down with her full wiry strength, almost unwilling to win. The blonde mostly had her back to Angel, and he found himself curious to know what she looked like, to know what kind of woman with her grace and skill would get caught up in an underground bare knuckle boxing ring like this.

After five minutes of watching the fight, wishing the blonde, that graceful creature, would turn around, Angel realized that he was supposed to be tailing Mr. Vohgarty. Catching up to the cad, the detective took a few discreet pictures with his phone, capturing the man putting down money and gathering a few flash paper stubs before heading back to watch the fight. The man seemed interested only on betting, not on spending all that money on a mistress. Angel figured then that his work here was done, so he made his way around the crowd, heading for the exit. If he was lucky, he would have enough time to grab a piece of pie at the diner on his way home, savoring that last bit of human company before he crawled back to his empty apartment and his empty bed.

That was the plan, anyway. However, when the roars and jeers of the crowd grew to a fevered pitch, Angel couldn't help but shoulder his way into a position where he could watch the fight, towering over many of the men and all of the few women in the crowd. The blonde was finally winning, hitting the brunette at every opportunity with fists and even bare feet. Her opponent wavered, throwing punches wildly, missing as the blonde danced around her and finally went in for the kill. One last punch to the face dropped the brunette, making her fall backward, unconscious. Curiously, the blonde darted forward and broke her opponent's fall, lowering her the last six inches gently.

When the blonde looked up, Angel finally caught a glimpse of her face, catching his breath in awe. Though she was bruised and battered, the woman was exceptionally pretty. Her eyes were large nicely spaced with huge lashes and a gleeful tilt. Her mouth was wide and he could tell that if she ever smiled, it would be like the sun breaking through fog in its brilliance. Her face was oval shaped and just the right mix of curvy and edged with a strong jaw and chin, but soft cheeks and a cutely odd-shaped nose. Not daring to breathe or move, Angel stared at the girl.

Everything but her faded into the background. The roar and seething of the crowd around him, the ringing of a loud bell muffled to his ears, the sight of some jerk with bleach-blond hair stepping into the ring and holding up the woman's hand in victory. None of it mattered. Only her. Only this beautiful and dangerous creature, this tiny girl with strength beyond her years or stature. Only her.

* * *

Buffy Summers was used to feeling the eyes of the crowd on her, especially after winning a fight. But something about tonight was different. As she finished lowering Faith's unconscious body to the ground, making sure her opponent's head didn't crack on the concrete floor, Buffy felt someone watching her intently. Not the fight, not Spike as he rang the bell and stepped into the ring, throwing up Buffy's hand in his to declare her victory, those eyes were watching her. Unable to shake the feeling, she scanned the crowd, searching for the source of this uncanny feeling that put butterflies in her stomach and the beat of her heart into overdrive.

And then she saw him. A tall man, hunching slightly as some tall people are wont to do, with dark hair and dark eyes. God, she was losing herself in those dark eyes as they stared at one another, neither able to break away. He was younger than most of the guys in here, mid-twenties she would guess, and he was intensely beautiful. They shared a few more seconds of impossible recognition before Spike was shouting in her ear and leading her from the ring.

"That was a good bout, love," he said in his relaxed British accent, clapping his hand on her shoulder and drawing her uncomfortably close to his body. "Nice and excitin' for the marks, yeah?"

Pushing away from him to pick up her sweatshirt and her shoes from under the ref's table, Buffy replied, "Gee, thanks, Spike. Now I can die happy knowing I entertained a bunch of overweight losers tonight."

"Oi," he hissed, pulling her back toward him by an arm. "Don't get sassy with me, pet. We both know you need this gig, you need more fights. Don't forget I'm the one who decides when and who you fight. Can't make any cash for the sick mum if you never win, now can you?"

"No," Buffy sighed, failing to keep the rage and frustration out of her voice. Unable to stand Spike's sweaty hand on her arm for one more second, Buffy wrenched away from him saying, "I'll be good. Just give me a call when I'm up next."

"Sure you will, bint," Spike replied, letting her sweep away into the crowd toward the betting tables to collect her winnings. "Sure you will."

Clem, one of the betting managers, smiled as Buffy approached, pressing an envelope of cash into her hand right away so she could escape the throng of men wanting to catch a piece of her victory by touching her or talking to her. Because of the crowd, Buffy almost hated winning as much as she did losing. But betting on herself was the only way she could make enough money to keep her mother and sister afloat, and still finish high school. Buffy nodded to Clem gratefully and made her way around the crowd, edging the room as the next fight got started.

Halfway around to the exit, Buffy met Faith and her brother Riley. The guy was helping his sister limp from the ring before he started his match. "Hey, B!" Faith called over the roar of the crowd. "Good fucking fight." The brunette stuck out her hand, which Buffy gladly took. She kinda liked Faith and hated having to fight a girl that might have been an amazing friend in any other situation.

"Sorry I beat you," Buffy offered meekly.

"Nah," Faith scoffed. "Don't worry about it, girl. You beat me fair and square. Next time, though," she pointed at Buffy with a smile, "you'd better watch out!"

"Yeah," said Buffy, chuckling. "I'll keep that in mind." Buffy turned to leave, but Riley caught her arm and spoke into her ear.

"Thanks for what you did out there," he said, his hot breath tickling her neck and giving her goose bumps. "Making sure Faith was okay when she fell? I really appreciate it."

"Sure," said Buffy slowly, her heart racing a mile a minute as Riley smiled at her, all his manly charm making her doubt which way was up. "I mean, I'd rather not hurt anyone more than I have to."

Riley smiled and nodded again, catching his sister as she wavered and leading Faith away from Buffy and toward the back room where the fighters all prepared. Buffy was glad she never brought anything more than she needed to fight because she hated going back there. Most of the boxers were men, and most of the couldn't give a damn about her still being seventeen and utterly uninterested in any of them. And now that the handsome and charming Riley was back there, too? Definitely a no-go zone as far as Buffy was concerned.

And what about that man from earlier? The one who was staring at her at the end of the fight. She wasn't going crazy, was she? That moment did actually happen, didn't it? It seemed like something out of an old movie, where two people's eyes meet across a crowded room and they're destined to spend the rest of the movie in a torrid love affair.

"Yeah, right," Buffy mumbled to herself as she kept her head down and pushed through the crowd. The words 'torrid' and 'Buffy' would never be found in the same sentence. Not even in the same room. The most experience Buffy had with boys was kissing Ford under the bleachers at her old school, and that was almost three years ago now. So much had happened since then, and barely any time for friends, much less boys.

Thinking of friends, Buffy realized it must have been getting late and she still needed to check in with her best friend Willow. Willow would ice her wounds and clean her cuts and get Buffy at least somewhat presentable for school in the morning. It paid to have a science nerd intent on going premed in college as a best friend, especially in Buffy's line of work.

Head down and rushing through the crowd, when Buffy tried to get out the door, she got broadsided by a guy and knocked into the man beside her, tripping him up so he fell forward. She just managed to dance away, keeping herself upright as she turned to apologize.

"Oh, shit," she said. "I'm so sorr –" And then she realized it was _him_. The beautiful man whose eyes she'd met just a few minutes before, and now he was sprawled out on the cement just outside the warehouse. Because of her.

* * *

It was _her_, Angel realized as he looked up. She'd come out of nowhere and ran into him, of course making him fall on his face. Or, in this instance onto his palms at least. As he pushed himself up and dusted his skinned palms together, he noted the mortified horror on her expressive face. God, she was beautiful.

"Oh my god," she squeaked as he got to his feet. "I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he chuckled, letting a friendly smile play across his lips. "I'm fine. Are _you_ okay?"

"Just really embarrassed," she admitted, letting her smile mirror his just a little. The smile was just as brilliant as he guessed it would be. A bright red blush crept across her cheeks under her tan, and Angel thought it made her look even more charming and so young! Here he was, literally falling for some teenaged prizefighter of a girl, despite his recent efforts to get away from violent types. His ex, Darla, was a mean bitch, prone to throwing fists as often as throwing hateful words and Angel had promised himself the next time around he'd find someone decent. A girl who was kind.

He guessed this girl seemed alright, despite her occupation. She'd saved her opponent a nasty knock on the head. She'd stayed and asked him if he was alright after he fell. Darla wouldn't have done those things. She would have laughed and told him what an idiot he was being.

Because he couldn't help himself, Angel asked, "What's your name?"

"Seriously?" she asked. "It was on all the betting slips. And you didn't catch it when Spike announced I won?"

"Spike? That guy with the radioactive hair?" Angel laughed. "I wasn't really paying attention to him." _Smooth move, Angel_, he thought. _Letting this girl know way too soon how captivating you find her._

Buffy laughed, the joyful sound slicing directly to Angel's heart, making him ache for her, making him want to scoop her up and take her away from all of this. "Yeah, that's him! The bleach-blond menace otherwise known as my boss." The girl looked at Angel again, their eyes meeting for the second time that night. He couldn't tell what color they were under the orange streetlight, but he desperately wanted to find out. Clearing her throat, Buffy said, "I'll tell you what. You tell me your name, and I'll tell you mine."

Angel tried not to read too much suggestion into her words, but he found it impossible. Attempting to will away the first stirrings of arousal by thinking of anything, anything but her, he replied, "Angel."

"Hmm," she muttered, tapping her chin with a thoughtful finger. "It suits you." They shared another smile and Angel almost groaned at the effect she had on him. "I'm Buffy. I should really get going, but it was nice meeting you!"

Angel watched as she jogged away, lamely calling after her, "You, too." Buffy. What kind of name was Buffy? Maybe it was a nickname, like his. No way Colm O'Connor would have named his son Angel. No, he'd been born Liam, but his baby sister had given him the name and now, even this many years after her death, he just couldn't let it go.

Head full of Buffy, and now of his sister, Kathy, Angel decided to forgo the pie and head straight back to his apartment. Maybe Mrs. Vohgerty would actually pay him when he showed her the pictures in the morning. That was something to look forward to, at least. That, and the possibility of seeing that strange and beautiful creature called Buffy maybe just one more time.

* * *

_A/N: So I had this idea last night, and it turned into a chapter of a longer fic this morning. I probably won't post another chapter for quite a while, because of everything else I'm working on, but I'm quickly falling in love with the story. I won't abandon it for too long. In the meantime, I'd love to hear what you think. Good idea? Bad idea? Tired and cliched idea? Any comments are welcome._

_~Ptera  
_


	2. The Bronze

Chapter 2 – The Bronze

Sifting his way through a throng of dancers, Angel made his way to the bar where he found a seat and ordered a beer. When the bartender asked for his ID, he almost laughed. He hadn't been carded since he was seventeen. And even then, he'd been able to show a pretty convincing fake. Angel supposed that in a place like this, an all ages club called the Bronze, there were so many under-aged kids that the staff had to be extra vigilant in whom they served to. As it was, he could see at least three groups of kids drinking with the help of one older sibling or friend.

Angel wasn't used to being out like this, alone and without a clear agenda. But it was Friday night and he still didn't have any open cases. Mrs. Vohgarty had paid up without any trouble two weeks ago, and he hadn't gotten any calls since then. Sure Sunnydale wasn't the big city, but it wasn't a tiny little hamlet either. There _should_ be people who needed his help, people who would pay him to look into things, to find things out. They should be there; Angel just had to figure out how to find them.

So now there was the Bronze, his latest in a long string of unsuccessful ideas for how to drum up some business. Angel figured that most of the people who came to him had problems, and people with problems liked to throw themselves into the bottle, drown their sorrows. He hoped he could find at least someone who looked lost or sad, and lend an ear. Maybe he could find someone with a misbehaving significant other or the mysterious disappearance of personal property at the probable hands of a loved one or coworker, and then get some paying work.

Setting down one of his few remaining five dollar bills, Angel took the beer from the bartender and moved to a stool near one end of the bar, where he could watch the people filtering into the club. There were the usual types – high school princesses and sorority girls, jocks and fraternity boys, the weird kids in the corner, and lots and lots of normal looking people. Mostly young.

_Shit_, Angel thought. Being fairly new to Sunnydale, he hadn't realized that though the Bronze was an all ages spot, it was also scarce for anyone even close to the age of thirty. None of these kids would have any real money to hire him. There were a few more professional looking people, but they all looked happy and more interested in spending their money on alcohol than on any problems they might be hiding behind those expensive shoes and perfect smiles.

He figured he'd finish his drink at least, since he'd already paid for it. No sense letting good beer go to waste. Not that this place had _good_ beer, but it was decent in any case. Angel turned away from the room and back toward the bar, watching the way drops of condensation shivered and slid down the glass of his bottle each time he set it down. Maybe he'd have better luck in that bar down the road a bit. It was more of a dive, probably more likely to have older drunks with bigger problems and bigger wallets. Angel cringed at the thought of going back into a place like that. Even at twenty-five, he'd already spent too much of his life in dive bars and crappy restaurants. Sure, they were usually fronts for the casinos and poker games his old boss ran, but sometimes Darla took him on days-long benders. She'd drag him from bar to bar, pounding anything they would sell her until the money dried up. A flash of memory – holding Darla's hair as she voided her stomach into a filthy toilet – ruined Angel's thirst and made him push the last third of his beer away in disgust. God damn it, now even beer was ruined by his ex and the toxic cloud that surrounded her. So why - only sometimes - did he miss her so much?

When he turned to leave, to go home and think of some way to build up his reputation and get some paying clients that didn't involve any more bars, Angel was shocked to see that _she_ was there. Leaning over the counter and yelling to the bartender was a petite blonde woman with an oddly cute-shaped nose. She looked so much different from the last time he'd seen her, with her hair down and styled, her dark blue halter-topped dress mouth-droppingly alluring, and a bright flush of exertion playing across her cheeks. She must have been dancing. And now she was _here_.

Just to make sure he wasn't imagining things, Angel called to her, "Buffy?"

"Huh?" she said, turning toward and looking past him. When her eyes finally landed on him and Buffy's face lit up, Angel's heart just about stopped in excitement along with his breath. "Oh! Hi," she said with a little wave. "I didn't see that was you. Angel, right?"

"Yeah," he said, trying to remember how to smile at a girl without looking like an idiot. "It's nice to see you."

"Really?" she asked, giving up on getting the bartender's attention and sitting down two stools away from Angel. "I suppose the lack of bruises and scraped knuckles is a bit of an improvement since last time."

Chuckling, he nodded. "I can't say I'm disappointed."

"So," she said, looking backward and holding a finger up toward a boy and a girl at a table halfway across the room, asking them to give her a minute, "what are you doing here? This doesn't seem like the best place for brooding." Buffy smiled and nodded at his warming beer with her chin. "Though I am impressed. It's difficult to maintain all that broodiness in an upbeat place like this."

"I…" he laughed, looking down at his hands. "I wasn't _intending _to brood. Sometimes it just sort of happens."

Losing her smile to a faraway look of desperate sadness, Buffy muttered, "Yeah, I know what that's like."

Ignoring everything he knew about the proper way to build a relationship with a girl without just skipping to the part where he could pry into her life, he asked, "What's wrong?"

Snapping out of her reverie and back into the moment, Buffy met Angel's eyes with hers again, trying to hide that momentary sadness behind another glaringly brilliant smile. "Wrong? Nothing's wrong! I'm here, out with my friends on a Friday night, dancing, talking with you." Angel's heart thudded into his throat at the thought that she was enjoying talking to him. "Everything's peachy-keen."

"If you say so," he whispered, trying to think of anything he could do with his restless hands, anything but pulling this beautiful sad girl into his arms. Why couldn't he remember what he usually did with his hands?

"So," she said, sliding over one stool to sit next to him. God, she smelled fantastic. "What do you do when you aren't watching fights and brooding in dance clubs? Do you go to school?"

"No. No school," he admitted, almost sheepishly. "Colleges like admitting people who actually finished high school." Why was he telling her that? Wanting to move on before she asked why he'd dropped out, he said, "I'm a private detective."

"Seriously?"

"Well, I'm trying to be anyway. The last case I had ended two weeks ago."

"Wow! That's so cool! Do you, like carry around a gun and chase bad guys?"

Laughing, he said, "No, nothing like that. But enough about me, what do you do when you're not fighting?."

"What _don't_ I do?" she complained with a role of her eyes. "School, take care of my sister, cook, clean. I'm a regular ol' Cinderella."

"What earned you a reprive for tonight?"

"My mom has been feeling much better lately and I didn't have to work, so here I am!"

Briefly, Angel put together a fuzzy mental picture of Buffy's home life. Mother sick, younger sister, this poor girl in charge of more than she was probably ready for. Suddenly her earlier slip into melancholy made more sense. Why was he so curious to learn more about her? Was it because he saw something in her that was eerily similar to his younger self? No, it couldn't be. This girl, _this girl_, was so much better than he had ever been, crappy home life or no.

* * *

Buffy couldn't believe her luck when she looked around after hearing her name and _he_ was there. Angel. Subject of many girly-crushy sorts of feelings and daydreams. And he remembered her name!

She tried to play it cool at first, but she couldn't help moving closer to him and asking about a zillion questions. And when he said he was a private detective, she just about slid backward out of her seat! How awesomely cool was that?

Sliding right past his efforts to learn more about the absolute mess that was Buffy Summers, she asked, "So, tell me, are you, like, on a case right now? Can I help?"

"Actually, I can't find any clients in this town," he confessed. "I guess I just don't know enough people yet."

Buffy almost offered to get to know him_ much_ better, but thought better of it, realizing just before the words escaped how slutty they would sound. Instead, she said, "I know what that's like. My family moved here two years ago from LA. I had to make all new friends and everything. Where did you move from?"

"Boston," he replied, but didn't elaborate.

"Bean town, huh? What brings you out to the West Coast?" Buffy tried to hide her giddiness as he smiled at her, making her want to jump up and down, squealing because he was actually having a conversation with her.

"I had to get away from that town," he muttered, looking away.

"Ah," Buffy nodded, "the weather or the people?"

Angel chuckled, giving Buffy a smile that made the butterflies in her stomach go crazy. "A little bit of both. Though I can't say I enjoy the constant sun, really."

"Geez, bub. You just don't know how to enjoy life, do you?" Buffy teased, pushing his shoulder with her fingers, taking the slightest excuse so she could touch him. God, his skin was so warm under the fabric of his sleeve, that Buffy wondered how hot he would be without it. And then there were too many naughty thoughts after that, making Buffy blush, her face growing even warmer than Angel's arm.

"Not anymore," he agreed, not seeming to notice Buffy's embarrassment.

"C'mon," she said, getting over herself and slipping from her bar stool with a smile, "we're going to dance. It's one of the many cures for a broody mood."

"Oh," he protested as she tried to pull him away from the bar. "You really don't want to see me dance," he insisted.

Not one to give up easily, Buffy pulled harder, tugging him toward her as she said, "It's a slow song. No dancing talent required, I promise!" Briefly she wondered if she was being too forward with this guy. Maybe he smiled like that at all the girls he talked to. Maybe his eyes had that magnetic affect on everyone and he was sick of the attention.

But then Angel sighed and stood up, letting Buffy lead him out onto the dance floor. "Just consider yourself warned," he said above the music as she turned back to face him, "I may step on you."

"Warning received," she chuckled, reaching up to place her hands on his shoulders, shivering when he pulled her close by the waist. God, everything about him was so warm and inviting, especially those dark eyes of his. As their eyes met, Buffy lost her breath and felt her heart thumping in her throat as they drew closer together, swaying to a rhythm that had nothing to do with the song that was playing.

When the music ended and the slow song transitioned into a faster one, Buffy pulled back reluctantly. But, she barely knew this guy, and even if he was gorgeousness on legs, she couldn't just cling to him all night, as much as she wanted to. "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"No," he whispered, giving her another lopsided sort of smile that made her want to grab onto him and never let him go. As they stepped away from the dance floor, Angel asked her, "Buffy, I have to know. How does a nice girl like you end up fighting in an underground boxing ring?"

Oh, great. He'd gone and asked the question she really didn't want to answer. "Uh," she began, trying to decide if the truth would be any better than a lie.

"I mean," he continued, putting a hand on her elbow as he directed her to a free space where they could stand and talk, "you were really good. That right jab looked almost professional."

"You know something about boxing?"

"A little," he confessed. "I know a lot more about surviving."

"Also of the good," she muttered. Sighing, she just let him have it. "I started with martial arts when I was little because I was too stubborn to take ballet with all the other little girls." Angel chuckled at her words, giving her an encouraging smile. With incentive to keep that smile and those eyes focused on her, Buffy continued without the presence of mind to smooth over the next part. "When my parents got divorced, I started running with the wrong crowd and getting into fights. Eventually I picked the wrong fight and got expelled, so my mom and my sister and I had to move here."

"I know a little something about falling in with the wrong crowd," he nodded, staring off into the distance, though Buffy was keenly aware that he hadn't taken his hand away from her arm.

"Okay," she said carefully, curious what Angel meant by that. "In any case, when we moved here, my mom made me join a boxing gym so I could fight, but more constructively. She has the gym's owner, Mr. Giles, totally wrapped around her little finger. She even had him reporting to her that I wasn't getting into trouble. It was so lame."

"Not anymore?"

"Since Mom got sick," Buffy admitted, hating to bring up such a depressing topic with him. Not that bare knuckle boxing was happy-puppy-land, but it was better in comparison. "We haven't been able to pay the gym dues. Mr. Giles said he would let me keep coming for free, but I didn't want to take advantage, you know?"

"You don't like getting something for nothing," Angel observed, nodding carefully like he understood. "But, how did you go from a sanctioned gym to this underground slugfest?"

"As a girl, and a minor, you don't make any money fighting the legal way," Buffy shrugged, turning away from Angel. What must he think of her? She'd turned her one less-than-cool skill into a money making scheme.

"And you fight because your mother is ill?" Angel guessed, placing one of his big hands on her shoulder so he could turn her towards him. "You couldn't get a regular job?"

Frustrated with the conversation and the way Angel just wouldn't let up on her, and maybe at the way he'd guessed exactly what her damage was, Buffy snapped, "And what? Flip burgers for minimum wage? Drop out of school? No, thank you. It's been swell, Angel." She twisted her arm away from him, trying to ignore him as he called after her.

"There are other ways, Buffy!" Angel caught up to her, blocking her escape as he leaned to speak in her ear. Buffy's annoyance with him was almost overshadowed by the way the scent of his cologne enveloped her and by the concerned look in his eyes. "Nothing good will come of fighting in that place. I know more than I'd care to admit about guys like Spike and I promise you, he'll never let you come out on top. He'll never let you go, either."

"Yeah, thanks. I know all the warnings, bub. But I'm making enough to keep my family in our house for now. Can't that just be enough?"

"Not if it gets you killed," he replied as she pushed past him, heading back toward her friends. A weird mixture of relief and disappointment crushed Buffy's heart when she realized he wasn't going to keep following her. Instead, when she looked back, she saw Angel making his way toward the door and she realized she'd probably never see him again. Not that she would _want _to see him again. No, sir-ee...

"Hey, Buffster," Xander greeted her when she got back to the table. "Willow and I couldn't help but notice you out there on the dance floor."

"Yeah, Buffy," Willow added as Buffy sat down at the table across from them, "who was that guy?"

"Someone I'd rather not talk about, if it's all the same to you guys," she answered, grabbing Willow's soda and taking a few swallows. "Thanks."

"But you're out there dancing with some older guy," Xander started. Oh, great. Buffy felt a major babble fest coming on. "I mean, what is an attractive guy like that doing dancing with high school girls? You do realize he must be damaged, right? Buff?"

"Chill out, Xander. I met him at work a few weeks ago. And _I_ asked _him_ to dance."

"So what are you doing back here with us?" asked Willow, taking a sip of her drink, but keeping those big innocent eyes on Buffy.

"When I met him," Buffy replied, looking back toward where Angel had disappeared into the crowd. "I didn't realize he was so annoying. Plus," she added, giving her best friend a significant look, "I met him at _work_. Not exactly the best place to meet quality honeys." Willow nodded in understanding, which made Buffy grateful yet again for her best friend.

"Yeah," said Xander. "I can't imagine a telemarketing firm would attract any remotely normal people." Xander put a friendly arm around Buffy's shoulders. She hated keeping her real job a secret from Xander, but he tended to flip out given the right provocation. And Buffy was pretty sure he was still crushing on her, though she'd shot him down more than a year ago. If Xander found out, he'd want to protect her by standing up to her boss and would probably get beat up by Spike's thugs for interfering. Either that, or he would nag her incessantly, which really wasn't any more appealing. Xander could be passive-aggressive and sarcastically naggy with the best of them.

"Yeah, it really doesn't," Buffy mumbled, finding her jacket and slipping it over her shoulders. "I'm suddenly not feeling the urge to party, guys. I think I'm gonna go home."

"The first night in three months you've had free, and you're going to spend it at home?" Xander asked her, incredulous.

"Back off, Xander," Willow came to Buffy's defense. At least there was one friend who knew what Buffy was really going through. "She's just not used to all the fun. Let her ease back into it."

"Yeah, I can see that," the boy replied, giving Buffy a goofy smile that asked for forgiveness.

Chuckling, Buffy smiled at her friends and said goodnight. As she left the Bronze and started walking home, she wondered what she could possibly do to get Angel off her mind for more than ten seconds at a time. The situation might call for ice cream and an old movie marathon. Possibly musicals. That might do it.

* * *

_A/N: I finally got a chance to work on the second chapter. It was a little difficult getting back into the swing of the story, especially since I don't have much experience writing Buffy. But, watching episodes from season one all day helped a bit. _

_Please let me know how you liked this chapter, it was only because of all the reviews begging me to continue that I made time for this one. If you let me know, I can definitely shift some priorities and keep working on more...  
_


	3. Damsels

_A/N: I'm back after the holidays! I hope you had a nice couple of weeks, cause mine were pretty awesome. But now it's back to normal life and writing for all you folks. Enjoy!_

_

* * *

  
_Chapter 3 - Damsels

Buffy came home from school like she did every day, throwing her backpack under the dining room table and heading for the kitchen. "Mom!" she yelled. "I'm home."

There was no answer, which wasn't particularly odd. Joyce Summers was recovering from cancer and more often than not had to take an afternoon nap. Buffy took the stairs up to the second floor of her house two at a time and cracked open her mother's bedroom door. No one in the bed, and after a little investigation, no one in the bathroom either.

Oh well, maybe her mother was feeling better and had gone out to the store or something. Even back to work? That was a dream Buffy couldn't help having. If her mother went back to work, Buffy wouldn't have to fight anymore. She could be a normal girl again. She could accept offers to colleges, she could get on with her life.

Hopeful, Buffy bounced back to the kitchen to make a snack for Dawn, who would be home on the bus very soon. She'd decided on veggies and dip before reaching the kitchen and noticing the blinky little light on the answering machine.

Shrugging, Buffy pressed the 'play' button and went to the refrigerator while the machine whirred and turned back the tape. How lame was it that her mom still had a tape-recording answering machine? Soon the tape clicked and the machine changed directions playing the answering machine message.

"Girls, it's Mom," came her mother's voice, wavering with emotion. "My check up today didn't go so well and I have to stay here in the hospital at least overnight. If you could bring my bag - it's on the floor of my closet, already packed - that would be helpful. I'm in room 215." It sounded like her mother was trying to hold back tears as she spoke, and the emotion echoed in Buffy as she listened to the words, which drew reluctant tears from her eyes.

"Shit," she breathed, writing down the hospital room number and wiping her eyes. The doctors didn't ever make her mother stay overnight unless something was really wrong. Something was wrong, damn it. And Buffy's mother would never let on how bad it was over an answering machine message. Buffy would have to stew over all the possibilities until she and Dawn could get to the hospital and get the news first hand.

Checking the driveway, Buffy realized her mother's car was gone, probably parked outside the hospital. That was something at least. Mom wouldn't have taken the car if she knew she wasn't coming home that night. They'd argued more than once about her mother's tendency to sugar-coat the truth of her medical problems, supposedly for Buffy's benefit. But she told her mother over and over again, that if she expected Buffy to take care of things while she was ill, she couldn't keep the severity of her condition a secret. It just wasn't fair.

Not that anything about her life was fair. Buffy's father left them, and they hadn't heard from him in years. He didn't even respond when Buffy tried to let him know that Mom was sick and they really needed his help with money. Begging him wasn't a job she relished, but she knew her mother would never ask Dad for the money they needed. Not even on her deathbed.

So Buffy picked up the slack. Still a few months away from her eighteenth birthday, and she was carrying her family through everything, all while trying to finish school. Maybe it wasn't worth it. Maybe she wouldn't ever get to go off to college with her friends. Maybe she'd be stuck in this town forever. Working retail, or waitressing maybe? She'd spent one summer as a diner waitress in LA, when she was supposed to be visiting her father. But the man was too preoccupied with Tracy, his new girlfriend, who was always around the house and poking her nose into Buffy's business. So Buffy left, told her father she was going back to her mother's house and told her mother she was safe with Dad. No way those two would ever speak to each other and figure out her lie. And Buffy hadn't even spoken to her father since.

Back then, the summer before last, being on her own had been an exciting adventure. Get a job, rent a tiny little room by the week from a man who didn't care she was only sixteen, do whatever she pleased, try not to get lonely at night when the city made strange noises and she realized there wasn't someone who cared about her in the next room, ready to protect her from the big bad world. She'd gotten through that summer no sweat, so when Mom had first gotten sick, Buffy thought she could handle it. She was a woman of the world; picking up some of the slack around the house would be no big deal.

It _was_ a big deal. It was a huge frickin' deal with a cherry on top. It was being buried under an avalanche of bills and doctor appointments and homework and making sure Dawn didn't starve.

God forbid her mother should die! Then it would be foster homes for her and Dawn, at least until Buffy's eighteenth birthday, and that was _not_ a place Buffy wanted to end up. Maybe she could win enough fights and stash enough money that if her mother did die, Buffy would have the means to escape the system. She'd have to take Dawn with, of course. No way was she letting her sister stay in foster care alone.

This is what her life had come to. Other seventeen-year-old girls were thinking of college and boys and clothes, while Buffy was making plans for the inevitable day when her mother died and left her and Dawn all alone in the world.

Sighing, Buffy glanced at the clock above the stove, calculating how much time she had left before Dawn got home and they'd have to make their way to the hospital yet again. Just enough time for both calls.

First, she called Xander and asked for a ride. "Yeah, Xand. My mom's got to stay at the hospital overnight and she didn't leave the car here…No, I don't need a ride home, I'll take Mom's Jeep…Yeah, I'm sure…Thanks."

The second call was the dicier of the two – the call she'd had to make too many times in the past six months. "Hey, Dru," she said when a high-pitched sing-song voice answered the phone. "Is Spike there?"

"May I ask who's calling, or is it a surprise?"

"The second," Buffy replied, just wanting to push through the drivel that tended to escape Drucilla's mouth. Spike's girlfriend was drugged out on something more often than not, and Buffy had learned it was just better to go with the flow and try to sidestep that whole pile of crazy.

"Baby," Buffy heard Dru calling into the background, "you've a mystery caller. I think she sounds like feathers."

"Yeah, great," Spike replied faintly. There were a few scraping sounds as the phone was passed over and Spike came on the line, "Yeah, what d'ya want?"

"It's Buffy Summers," the girl said, keeping her voice even and straightforward. "I could use another fight, if that's anywhere in the cards."

"Hey, Buff," he drawled lewdly, despite the fact that his girlfriend was probably still standing right beside him. "Thought you'd never call." Buffy tried her best not to shiver in revulsion at the suggestion in his voice.

"Yeah, well," she started, clearing her throat. "I need the money."

"That's what they all say, luv," Spike replied, and Buffy could almost see that evil smirk on his face.

"Whatever, Spike. Do you have something for me, or not?"

Spike chuckled and said, "Yeah, sure. We got a fight goin' down tomorrow night."

"Same place?"

"Aye. Ten o'clock, pet."

"I'll be there," Buffy decided, hanging up on Spike before he could say anything else to her. She hated working for him, but he was the only creep in town running fights between women as well as men. At least he hadn't made her fight in a tub of pudding or something else just as ridiculous. No, Spike's customers wanted the real deal, raw fights where blood was paramount and no one left uninjured.

Just as Buffy was pulling her little purse out of her backpack, her sister came bouncing into the house, calling, "I'm home."

"Dawn, keep your shoes on," Buffy ordered in greeting.

"Geez, Buff," her sister replied. "What crawled up your butt?"

"Mom's in the hospital," Buffy answered with a frown, making sure her driver's license and her keys were in her purse. "Xander's gonna drive us."

"How bad is it?" Dawn asked. The thirteen-year-old always wanted to know the truth. Just like Buffy, she was sick of the sugar-coated version of things.

"I don't know," Buffy sighed, "but Mom didn't sound too happy when she left the message on our answering machine."

Dawn nodded, taking in the information but keeping her reaction to it quiet. Buffy'd noticed how her sister tended to close up more and more every time they got bad news, probably scared of the same thing they'd all been dreading since that first doctor uttered the word, "Cancer." Their mother would probably die sooner rather than later and their father could give two shits about what happened to his daughters.

* * *

  
It was just as bad as Buffy had feared. The cancer was back, and spreading. Mom was scheduled for surgery in the morning, and there was a chance she wouldn't come out of it. Buffy let Dawn say her goodbyes to their mother first, standing outside the hospital room and waiting her turn. Eventually, Dawn came out, her eyes reddened with repressed tears.

Buffy ventured into the room then, noting how it was exactly like every other hospital room she'd seen in the past six months. "Hey, Mom."

"Hi, Buffy," her mother said with a small smile and a slight wave. "I know this is really hard on you, sweetie, even more than your sister." Drawing Buffy into a hug, her mother whispered, "I just want to let you know how proud I am of how responsible you've been during this whole thing. You've been a lifesaver, Buffy."

"Mom," she muttered. "Let's not, okay? I'll see you tomorrow after surgery."

"Of course," Mom nodded. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

Buffy got the feeling that her mother was saying this to convince herself more than her daughter. In all the mayhem, Buffy hadn't really thought much about what her mother was going through. Now she realized that her mother was scared of dying, and Buffy found she couldn't fault her for that. Or for anything, really. It was just crappy circumstances that forced Buffy into the ring. It was just bad luck, nobody's fault – especially not Mom's.

"Don't worry," Buffy said, hugging her mother again. "I'll take care of everything at home. Dawn and I are fine. You just concentrate on getting better. I love you."

"Thank you, honey," her mother nodded. "I love you, too." As Buffy left, she could feel her mother watching her go. Probably wondering if this was the last time she'd see her daughter. At the thought, Buffy looked back, taking in that one last look at her mother's face, at once familiar and strange. Her mother's appearance had changed so much in the past few months, if Buffy hadn't watched the progression, she wasn't sure she'd even recognize her.

* * *

  
Joyce pulled through the surgery well, and Buffy took Dawn to see her the next afternoon, after they'd both spent a tense day in school. Buffy couldn't remember any particular moment in the day. It was all just a blur of classes and that sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that something bad was going to happen.

But it didn't. The doctors were hopeful Buffy's mother would make a full recovery, after more rounds of radiation and chemotherapy. All of which needed to be paid for, along with the mortgage and all the other bills. Joyce had some insurance and a little bit of sick pay from her job at a local art gallery, but it wasn't enough to cover everything. Buffy had said she'd take care of it, and her mother, not really caring to pry, had bought the lie Buffy told her about being a telemarketer. If Joyce knew how Buffy really made her money, she wouldn't concentrate on getting better.

So Buffy lied. She left the hospital long before the fight would actually start, hanging out in the library and doing her homework before dropping her things off at Willow's house and walking to the warehouse. Business first, Buffy found Clem and gave him a few bills, betting on herself. She always got a tiny take of the house winnings, even when she lost, but Buffy found she could make even more money by betting and winning. And Spike let her; hell, he let all his fighters bet on themselves as long as they didn't get greedy. But a hundred bucks – turned into two or three hundred, depending on the odds – that was kosher. On a good night, Buffy could make almost five hundred, if enough gamblers showed up. It was enough, because it had to be.

When it was her turn, Buffy stripped off her sweatshirt and shoes, having already taped up her wrists, and stepped into the ring. Her opponent was a girl she'd never seen before, though she'd heard of her from Faith. Glory Emmanuel – a bottle-blonde firecracker who had a reputation for being one of the toughest fighters in the rotation. Sizing her up, Buffy decided the woman was taller than her, but not much heavier, which was a shame. It meant she was probably going to be fast, as well as having a longer reach.

Spike made the announcements and rang the starting bell, and Buffy quickly decided that her first impressions had been right. There was no good way around the taller woman's defenses and she was skilled, more so than most. Glory's blows were hard and left no opening for retaliation and before long, Buffy hit the ground, seeing stars and just unable to get up and continue the fight.

"Well there goes a hundred bucks," Buffy muttered as she wiped the blood from her lip and limped away from the ring in defeat. She'd lost a few times before, but it was such a rare occurrence that Buffy found her pride wounded as well as her body. And the loss of just a hundred dollars was almost more than she could bear.

Fighting to hold back tears, she made her way through the crowd and toward the exit, keeping her head down so fewer people would recognize her. It worked all the way out of the warehouse and ten feet into the parking lot. But there a trio of guys stopped her, the one in a dark leather coat grabbing her arm and saying with liquor tinted breath, "Where you off to in such a hurry, sweetheart?"

"Well," she said, twisting her arm out of the guy's grasp and trying not to back down and burst into tears like a little girl, "I _was_ planning on going home, but maybe you'd like your ass kicked, huh?"

The man and his two buddies laughed. "I saw you out in the ring tonight, cupcake," the first man said. "You couldn't even beat that skinny bitch. Why should I think you could take me down? You know, I lost a lot of money on you tonight," he said, taking a step closer.

"You shouldn't gamble," Buffy said lightly, struggling to hold her ground against this guy who probably weighed at least twice as much as she did. "It's a really nasty habit."

The man laughed. "I kinda like you, kid. But I lost so much on you tonight, I'm gonna have to get my money's worth." The man lunged at Buffy, but she danced away...and right into the arms of one of the guy's friends. This one wasn't quite as big as the first, but he looked stronger – like he was no stranger to a fight.

"Agh," Buffy screamed furiously, stomping down on her captor's instep just before kneeing him in the nuts. She just managed to untangle herself from that guy as he fell, but the first man and his remaining friend, a balding guy with disgustingly thick lips and arms to match, immobilized her by twisting her arms behind her back.

"C'mon," said the main guy, Leather Coat. "Let's get her somewhere quieter."

"What about Lenny?" asked Lips.

"He'll catch up when he can walk again," the first man assured his friend.

"Let me go, you apes!" Buffy yelled, her heart pounding so quickly she thought it might explode. She didn't even want to think how these guys might think to get their money's worth out of her.

"If you hurt me," she warned. "Spike won't let it go. He'll come after you. I'm one of his best fighters."

"Spike's small time, honey," Leather Coat told her. "He couldn't whack a dead puppy with the goons he's got."

"Ha!" Buffy said as he transferred her arms to his friend and stood in front of her. "That's funny. You should think about a career in comedy with lines like that." Before the guy could respond, Buffy scrunched up her abs, bringing up her feet and kicking Leather Coat directly in the gut. Fortunately, the blow landed well and he lost his balance, falling back and hitting his head on the pavement.

"Hey!" growled the man behind her, Lips, twisting her arms up painfully. "You'll pay for that too, missy!"

A somewhat familiar voice came from behind them, "I'll pick up that tab."

Lips turned them both around, as the first man got up, holding his head and asking, "Who the fuck are you?"

"Angel," Buffy breathed, finally getting turned far enough that she could see him. He was looking very much Mr. Hot Private Eye in dark pants and a black trench coat over a tight white shirt. She never – okay, sometimes – thought she'd be so happy to see this jerk again, after how things had gone between them the last time. And his eyes were just as captivating as ever. Angel smirked at the goons like he hadn't a care in the world, though Buffy noticed the concerned tilt to his eyes when his met hers for a fraction of a second. Buffy was almost glad for the tight grip Lips had on her arms, since it kept her upright when her knees weakened at that brief glance.

"Well, whoever you are," Leather Coat sneered, "fuck off. This is between us and the girl."

"Yeah, I really can't do that," Angel said, taking another step closer.

"You're only gonna get yourself hurt, buddy," the goon warned, crossing his arms over his chest, though Buffy caught how uneven his balance was as he stood there trying to look intimidating. He must have really conked his head when Buffy knocked him down. Smirking a little with pride and taking a chance, she tried to struggle out of her captor's arms with a jerk, but he held her fast, not even giving her an inch of leeway. Buffy gave up and raised her head, just in time to see Lenny sneaking up on Angel from the parking lot.

"Behind you!" she yelled, breathless as Angel turned without hesitation, his big fist flying unerringly into Lenny's face, hitting with a satisfying crunch. Unintentionally, Buffy noticed Angel's form, the precise fluidity of muscles that told her he wasn't lying when he said he knew a thing or two about boxing.

"You fucking bastard," Leather Coat yelled as his friend hit the pavement, out cold. "Just who do you think you are?" The man threw a punch at Angel, but he missed as Angel ducked out of the way, coming back with a low kick to the attacker's knee. The bone shattered with a sickening crunch and Leather Coat went down, screaming.

At his friend's distress, the man holding Buffy loosened his grip on her. "Oh, bad move, guy," she snarled, ripping her arms from his grasp and gripping her hands together so she could swing both in one big fist up at his face. The hit landed, though it was a bit more glancing than Buffy had planned on. The guy swung back at her ribs, but Angel caught his arm before it could make contact, twisting it behind the man's back so he winced and fell to his knees.

"You know," said Buffy, leaning down to get in the man's face, "it's really not a great idea to mess with people who fight for a living. Plus? Ganging up on a girl? So not cool."

"What are you gonna do?" he scoffed. "Call the cops? How're you gonna explain this place?"

"Yeah, not really an option," Buffy agreed, glancing up at Angel with a smirk right before she drew back her leg and kicked the guy in the crotch as hard as she could.

"C'mon," said Angel as he let Lips go so the guy could whimper and writhe in pain on the ground. "Let's get out of here."

"Sure," Buffy agreed, so glad he'd shown up when he did. If not for Angel, that already crappy night would have been so much worse.

* * *

_So what did you think? Was it worth the wait?_

_~Ptera  
_


	4. The Kiss

Chapter 4 - The Kiss

Angel walked beside the girl without a clue to where they were going. All he knew was he had to get Buffy away from there, away from those goons. Though silence between them started out amiably enough, it soon grew awkward until finally, Buffy broke the silence.

"Just go ahead and say it already," she demanded. "I know you're dying to."

"Say what?" Angel asked.

"I told you so," Buffy said, shuffling her feet.

"Ah," Angel replied. She must've still been angry with him about the last time they'd spoken. About how he'd warned her. About how she'd ignored his warnings and gotten into trouble anyway.

Deciding to let that issue go, he said, "I saw the fight."

With a humorless chuckle, Buffy said, "And add one more to the pile of Buffy's humiliation tonight."

Shaking his head at her self-defeating mood, Angel asked, "Are you okay?"

Buffy looked over at him, and Angel's heart clenched at the sight of her bloodied face in the orange street light. She looked more like a war survivor than a boxer, but she was still beautiful underneath the rivulets of dried blood. Sighing, Buffy looked away again and muttered, "I'll be fine."

"What about your arms?" he asked, placing light fingertips on her shoulder as they walked, a fleeting touch that made Angel all but gasp in the sudden desire to touch more of her. "I mean," he stuttered, "did those guys twist anything?"

"Nothing major," she replied, looking away and hugging her arms to her chest.

They continued in silence, Angel beating himself up again for saying those things to her at the Bronze, for making her hate him. Buffy was practically a stranger. What right did he have telling her what she certainly already knew?

Maybe a compliment would help? "You did really well out there tonight," he tried. "That left to the girl's kidney was brutal."

"Yeah, thanks," she said, and Angel saw a ghost of a smile soften her lips. "That's one I've been working on. No one sees it coming."

"Especially not so quick after that kick-feint combo."

"Liked that?" she asked, but then her smile faltered. "It wasn't quite good enough."

"There's always fights you're gonna lose, Buffy," Angel pointed out.

"Yeah, but I couldn't afford to lose this one."

Though thrilled she was opening up to him, Angel wasn't looking forward to the answer when he asked her, "Why not?"

"I needed the prize money," she insisted. "_And_ the hundred bucks I lost betting on myself."

"Ah," Angel nodded, following when Buffy turned a corner.

After a block and a half of silence she blurted out all of a sudden, "Thanks."

"For what?" he asked.

"For getting me away from those guys."

"Happy to help," Angel replied, smiling at her from the corners of his eyes. God, he just loved the way she moved, all confident and graceful, even though the blow to her ego had taken some of the spring from her step. He could almost feel her power from a few feet away, and his brain chose that moment to flash onto a fantasy of Buffy, naked, moving above him.

'Shit!' he thought, desire twisting in his belly as he pushed the thought firmly from his mind. Buffy was a minor, she'd told him that. And he couldn't afford another hit on his record. It was difficult enough keeping his juvi record under wraps, not to mention what had happened back in Galway. So he couldn't think about her like that. Not yet. Not until her actual age caught up with the age Angel saw written in her eyes and the mournful tilt of her frown.

"What would you be doing if you didn't have to fight?" he asked, wincing when Buffy huffed in anger.

"If this is gonna be another lecture, I can walk myself home, thanks."

"No! No," Angel insisted, catching her eye with a smile. "I was just curious."

A slow smile crept over Buffy's face as they walked for a dozen steps or so. "I think," she began in a voice so soft it was almost a whisper, "I'd be shopping. Or hanging out in a coffee shop with my friends. Or, ooh! I've always wanted to try surfing!"

"Man," Angel smiled, "I haven't been in the water since I left Galway."

"Where's that? Is it near Boston?"

He laughed. "No. Galway, Ireland."

"No shit?" Buffy chuckled. "You grew up over there? Why would you ever want to leave?"

Clearing his throat, Angel tried to swallow his discomfort and answered, "I didn't really have a choice."

"Oh! Like when my mom made us move here to Sunnydale?"

"Exactly," he lied. "Exactly like that."

They walked in silence for another block, Angel trying to pull himself out of the memories he'd fallen into and Buffy just walking silently beside him. She did open her mouth and take a breath before snapping her lips closed a few times, but the words were slow to come.

Eventually she asked, "Do you like being a private eye?"

Angel smiled and nodded. "It's better than all the other jobs I've had."

"What did you do before? You don't strike me as a cubicle sort of guy."

Instead of answering, he just sighed, sticking his hands in his pockets and pulling the edges of his coat together in front of his belly. "Let's just say," Angel told Buffy, wishing he could figure out how to tell her the truth, "I know how to survive for a reason. And I hated my last job." He could almost hear her sympathetic nod, but he didn't want to look over and know for sure, that she pitied him.

"My last job," Buffy spoke up, probably to break the brooding silence Angel was sure emanated from him in waves, "was selling ice cream bars at the city pool over the summer. Oh, and the summer before that, I was a waitress."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Angel pointed out, biting his tongue before he told Buffy she should be working at a restaurant instead.

Buffy shrugged, but gave Angel a look that said she knew what he was thinking, and don't even try it, mister. The look made Angel chuckle, a soft rumble deep in his chest that felt very unfamiliar. And then he realized why. He wasn't prone to laughing, and hadn't been since he was a child. So most of the time, when he did laugh, it was an act, a social construct to keep ingratiated with the right people. To keep Darla from laughing at him. To keep people from scratching too deep beneath the surface and figuring out that he really hated what was there.

It was different with Buffy. His laughter with her wasn't an act, for once. It was true and it felt really nice. And Angel felt grateful to this girl, this bruised and battered, overwhelmed, lonely girl, for making him laugh. And making him mean it.

Angel wasn't sure how to express his gratitude, but as they walked together, silent again, he found his hand brushing Buffy's arm, the backs of his knuckles playing lightly just above her wrist. And every touch sent a warm, tingly sensation he could only describe as hope, straight to his heart. Especially since Buffy didn't move away, even when he was sure she'd noticed.

When Angel looked over at Buffy again, trying to judge whether or not he'd be welcome to hold her hand, he noticed she was shivering.

"Are you cold?" he asked softly, loathe to break the precious silence. But his concern won out and he had broken the silence, startling Buffy out of her thoughts.

"A little," the girl replied, hugging herself with one arm, but leaving the other, the one closest to Angel, at her side and in his reach.

Unable to see her cold as well as in pain, Angel dropped his coat from his shoulders and draped it across Buffy's as they walked.

"Thanks," she said softly, pulling the coat closer around her body. Angel found himself wishing he was still wearing the jacket, so he could hold her like that, warm her up more quickly. "Are you sure you won't get cold?"

"I'm used to Boston winters," he laughed, the act so blissfully truthful and right, again. "I'll be fine. I run pretty hot most of the time, anyway."

Buffy mumbled something Angel was almost certain came out as, "That's for sure!" and it made him smile.

They walked a few more blocks in silence, and Angel wondered how much further they had to go. On the one hand, he wanted to spend as much time as he could with Buffy, but on the other, it would take a long time to get back to his car, and then back home after that.

And then, when Buffy slipped her hand into his, Angel found he didn't care how long it would take to get home. Because this? This was worth it. This was worth anything.

When Buffy spoke again, Angel didn't quite hear her over the noise of a passing car. "What was that?"

"I said," Buffy squeezed his hand shyly, "I hate losing."

"That's what makes you so good," he insisted, squeezing her hand right back, marveling at how small and delicate it felt. But Angel knew better; he had seen how powerful Buffy's fists could be when she put her mind to it. And something deep inside his brain shivered at the excitement of it.

"I'm out of practice," she muttered. "Since I haven't been to the gym in ages."

"If you want," Angel offered, "I could spar with you some time. I don't know a whole lot, but I do know a little."

"I saw," Buffy squeezed his hand again and smiled up at Angel. "But I don't know if I could hit you."

Angel fought the urge to beam at her. She really liked him, didn't she? Angel found himself caring less and less about Buffy's age and more and more about how she made him feel. And he hadn't felt like this in so long, the emotions were foreign to him. Maybe he'd never felt like this.

Then, Buffy stopped walking, turning to face him. Nodding to the house up from the sidewalk, she said, "This is my stop."

"Okay," Angel breathed, reluctantly letting go of her hand and taking his jacket back when she gave it to him. "I should go."

"Yeah," Buffy nodded, looking over her shoulder at the house.

"Because all I can think about," he confessed, "is how much I want to kiss you." And along that path only meant trouble, heartbreak, and felony charges.

"Kiss me?" Buffy whispered, like he'd said something so surprising she couldn't wrap he brain around it. But then, Angel found himself right before her, looking down into her face, watching her brows rise in pleased surprise and her eyelids draw shut as he closed the distance between them.

When Angel's lips met hers, he almost stumbled with the force of the tingling pleasure that shot through his entire body. Her lips were warm, soft in places, but rough in others due to the fight. Angel had meant for the kiss to be short, innocent almost, but he couldn't make himself back away. He couldn't keep himself from sinking into her, pressing just a little harder with every breath and every kiss. And when his lips parted, hers followed as if by instinct rather than practice. Tongues met and she tasted sweet, like fresh air, until the metallic tang of blood seized him, pulling him down into memories he'd tried and failed to bury.

Stepping back with a barely concealed gasp of remembered horror, Angel breathed, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have."

"No, you should have!" Buffy insisted, stepping toward him again. But now, all he could see were the cuts and bruises on her face and the way she held her arm just so, probably because she'd strained it in the scuffle outside the warehouse. All he could smell was the blood, still on his tongue, sticking in the back of his throat so strongly that he almost gagged on it.

"I can't," he sorrowfully insisted. "I didn't mean to … I'm sorry." And with that, he fled, walking quickly back the way they came, unsure whether he'd ever make it home. Because each step was a battle, a war between good sense, bad memories, and the urge to go back and to keep touching her until he fell into something that felt so right, it must be exactly wrong.

* * *

As Buffy watched Angel walk away, everything stopped. Her heart stopped, her lungs stopped, the wind stopped. Everything was still, except for him. Why? Why was he walking away? Was she that awful at kissing? And what had spurned that haunted look in his eyes? How could he seem so nice in one moment, and then be so painfully cruel in the next?

When a tear slid past the corner of Buffy's nose and onto her lips, the world began again with the racing of her heart and the intake of a choking, wracking breath that was more of a sob than her body's desperate grasp at oxygen. And that was how she showed up at Willow's garden doors: bleeding, bruised, and consumed with confused sobs and questions of "Why?"

"Oh, my god, Buffy!" Willow exclaimed when she saw her friend. "What happened? Who did this to you?"

"I…" Buffy began, letting her friend lead her to the bed and sit her down there. "I lost," she sobbed again, "the fight."

"Oh, sweetie," Willow crooned, crouching down at her friend's knees and taking the battered hands into her pristine ones. "Was it really awful? Is anything broken?"

Buffy hated the concerned tilt of her friend's eyebrows. She hated the way Willow spoke softly, tenderly and caring. She hated that it was exactly what she needed. She hated the way she flung her arms around Willow's shoulders and cried, "Nothing's broken. But everything hurts!" And she hated every single tear she cried over that stupid guy - the one who'd made her feel like this.

* * *

_Reviews are, as always, appreciated!_


	5. Lost and Found

Chapter 5 – Lost and Found

Angel knew he was in trouble when he found himself drawn to the Bronze every night, just on the off chance that he might see her. Buffy really was too young for him, but he wanted to explain what had happened. He fantasized about telling her his deepest, darkest secrets, so that she would know why he left her that night. So she would know that it had nothing to do with her and everything to do with his past. He wanted to apologize.

But she never showed. Angel saw her friends once, the boy and the girl, but no Buffy. Angel could picture her in his mind, and he wondered if he was just remembering her better than she really was. If he was remembering honey-blond hair where it was really dirty blond. If he was remembering a big, bright smile where there was only a sad, despondent frown. If he was remembering how impossibly soft and warm her lips felt against his, where they were chapped and split after the fight.

But why couldn't he forget about her? Why couldn't he move on with his life? Why couldn't he find any fucking cases?

There had been only one in the past two weeks, and he'd felt bad charging even a full day's work when he could have answered the man's question in five minutes. Yes, his wife was cheating on him. Yes, it was with his best friend when the two of them took those long lunches together. No, there was no way he was mistaken. Look, there are pictures and everything.

Finally, Angel decided that enough was enough and went back to the warehouse, back to the boxing ring, hoping to find her there. After scanning the crowd for a few moments, he made his way back to the betting tables, leaning in close to the friendliest looking clerk and saying, "You know a fighter named Buffy?"

"Buffy Summers?" The guy replied, waiting for Angel's nod. "Yeah, sure. She fights here a lot."

Watching the heavy man's face and the way his skin wriggled loosely around his jowls, Angel said,"But not tonight?"

"Sorry, guy," the clerk replied. "But I think Spike said she's coming in tomorrow."

"Great," the detective nodded. "Thanks."

Angel turned to leave, but the clerk called him back, "Hey? You're not a stalker or something, are you? 'Cause I'm supposed to report that to Spike. The girls have been having a difficult time lately. Some really shady guys like hanging around here." Angel scoffed, remembering the group who'd attacked Buffy the last time he'd seen her. 'Shady' seemed like an understatement for those bastards.

"Not a stalker," Angel insisted, holding up his hands in surrender and hoping he spoke the truth. "Just like to see her fight."

"So you'll be back tomorrow?"

Angel nodded, turning to leave again, but the clerk grabbed his arm. It took every fiber of Angel's muscle and a few deep breaths to keep from lashing out at the man. "What?" he snarled carefully.

"Look, I just noticed that you've been here a few times without putting any money down."

"And that's a problem?"

"Spike gets wind that someone's enjoying the fight without paying at least a little? He'll uninvite you real quick, probably with a few broken bones."

"He can try," Angel sneered, catching sight of the blond bastard, who was grinning brightly at the brutality of the current fight.

"He and six of his friends," the clerk replied, warning evident on his voice.

Sighing, Angel said, "Fine. I'll bring some cash next time. What's your name?"

"Clem," the clerk nodded, his jowls flapping again with the motion.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Clem," Angel said, giving the man a faked smile, and receiving one in turn. It couldn't hurt having a few more ties to the Sunnydale underground, and Clem seemed like a good enough guy. And if Angel let drop tomorrow that he was a private investigator, it might just bring him some business from people the clerk knew, who wouldn't necessarily go to the cops with an issue he could solve. For a fee.

* * *

Angel scrounged together as much cash as he could the next day, knowing he couldn't show up with the twenty bucks he had left after paying the rent and call that good enough. No, he had to pawn something. Something good, but what? Darla had already taken almost everything of value he'd ever owned. The only thing left was the gold ring on a chain around his neck. Fuck.

He left the chain in place until the very last moment, standing at the pawn shop counter, watching the cashier through the bars as he unfastened the clasp and passed both ring and chain through to the woman.

"Wedding ring?" she asked him, taking a good look at the gold band.

"Yeah," Angel nodded.

"This is too small for you, honey," she said, measuring the ring's diameter against her own fingers. "Who's was it?"

"My da's," the man whispered, looking away from the woman. "How much?"

"You sure you wanna do this?" she asked him, setting the ring back down on the counter and pushing it like she would give it back in a moment if he asked her to.

"You'll hold it for two weeks?" Angel asked, finally working up the courage to meet her eyes.

"Yes, sir."

"Then I'm sure. How much?"

"I can give you two-fifty."

Angel closed his eyes and nodded. He could do this. He could bet as little as possible at the ring tonight, and even if he lost, he could make up the difference in the next two weeks. Even if it meant losing his apartment, he would get that ring back. There was just no other option. "Deal."

* * *

Angel arrived at the warehouse again that night, earlier than he probably should have. Hardly anyone was around yet, except for the clerks accepting bets and a few fighters and other crew members. "Hey, guy," Clem greeted him, ushering him up to the betting tables right away, before anyone else could ask what he was doing there.

"Fights don't start for another hour, guy."

"Sorry," Angel said. "I could go away and come back later."

"Nah, you're here now. Might as well stay," Clem gave him another look, his dark eyes bloodshot and almost red. "What's your name, guy?"

"Angel," he replied, watching two men redraw the circle in flaky white paint on the cement floor.

"Angel? That's a girly name."

Sighing, the detective said, "Also go by O'Connor, if you like."

"Irish?"

"Yup."

"Spike's British," Clem pointed out, and both men watched the blond stalk across the warehouse, yelling at people here and there, issuing orders. "That's almost the same, right?"

Angel scoffed, "Not really. The British are bastards."

Clem laughed, almost nervously, "If Spike weren't my boss," he dropped his voice to a whisper, "I'd agree with you, guy."

Angel laughed back, surprising himself. "Do you like working here?"

"Why?" Clem asked suspiciously. "Are you lookin' for a job? 'Cause you'd have to work for a British bastard."

"No, I have a job, I guess," Angel replied, turning when the door opened, finding himself disappointed when it wasn't Buffy. "I'm a private detective."

"You solve crimes and shit?"

"No," Angel shook his head. "Pretty much I just get proof of who's sleeping with who and collect a check."

"And you come to watch chicks fight in your spare time?" Clem asked. "Man, can I be you, guy?"

"Trust me," Angel replied, watching as more and more people who weren't Buffy came in, "you don't want to be me."

After a good half an hour of chatting with Clem and watching people show up for the fights, a woman approached Angel. She had dark hair, and he thought he might recognize her, but he couldn't remember from where. Was it from here?

"Hey, there," she said, her voice dripping with suggestion. "I'm Faith. Who are you?"

"Angel," he replied tersely, wondering where Clem had run off to so quickly.

"Haven't seen you here before. You just bet, or are you a fighter, too?"

"Just a spectator really, but everyone's got to put some money down, I guess," he replied, looking around for someone to pawn this girl off on. But besides the mysteriously absent Clem, he didn't know anyone here.

"You should bet on me, big guy," she said, stepping a little closer and giving him a bright smile. "I win more often than not."

Snapping his fingers, Angel said, "I remember where I've seen you before. You lost to Buffy about a month ago."

"Well yeah," she said, looking down, "I lost that one. But that was a fluke. Ask anyone."

Angel wanted to say that it wasn't just a fluke – that Faith was sloppy and really not very good – but he thought that too mean, so he kept his mouth shut.

"So," Faith began again, brushing her hand over Angel's arm, "what are you looking for here, Angel?"

"Why do I have to be looking for anything?"

"No one comes here without an agenda," she smiled. "I was just wondering what yours was."

"Actually, I'm looking for a girl."

Angel only realized his mistake when Faith pressed herself against him and said softly, "I'm a girl."

"No," he said, stepping back, holding her away from him with a hand on her shoulder. "No, I meant a specific girl. I'm looking for Buffy."

"Fuck. Everyone's always talking about that girl. Hey, she's a good fighter, but that's it. 'Bout as much personality as a spoon."

"You just don't know her," Angel insisted.

"And I'm thinking _you_ want to get to know her better, hey?" Faith leered at Angel, rolling her shoulder out of his grip. "Whatever, Angel. It's your loss."

Wondering what had just happened, Angel watched Faith saunter away, towards the door back into the locker room. Was Buffy back there? Could she have slipped past him somehow? By this point the room was starting to fill up and more and more bets were placed for the first fight. And still Angel hadn't seen Buffy.

* * *

"Clem," Buffy hissed, pulling the clerk through the doors into a back room, "how long has that guy been here?"

"What guy, Buffy? There's lots of guys."

"The one talking to Faith," Buffy cried. What the hell was Angel doing here? It was clear he hated her, why would he show up now? Just to torture her some more?

"Awhile," Clem answered her. "He's here to see you fight. I asked him, but he told me he's not a stalker. If you say otherwise, though, I can get the guys to throw him out."

"No," Buffy said quickly. "No, let him stay."

"He put a bet on you, girl," Clem said, smiling at her. "Do you want to know how much?"

"No," she replied. "Don't tell me. Just put this," Buffy handed Clem an envelope, "down on me, too."

"Alright. Good luck, Buffy."

"Thanks, Clem," she replied, letting him go back out into the main warehouse, back to his betting table.

Angel had come to her fight, and he'd bet on her. Why would he do that? Could he maybe be trying to apologize? Buffy stood on her tiptoes to see through the high window in the door between the back offices and the warehouse, searching until she saw him, blissfully Faith-free. He leaned against one of the support columns, watching the first fight out of the corner of his eye and scanning the room with the rest of his attention. Looking for her.

"I so cannot deal with this right now," Buffy whispered to herself, sinking back down and pressing her back against the door. To just break even after her last loss, Buffy _had_ to win tonight. If they defaulted on the car payments, the house would go soon afterwards, and then it was goodbye happy home and hello apartment on the bad side of town. Dawn deserved more than that. _She _deserved more than that.

And that was the thought that got Buffy through the fight. It had nothing to do with a certain someone in the audience. Absolutely nothing.

That night, Spike paired her up with an older fighter, a woman in her early thirties, Nora. Buffy found her to be powerful, but slow. After taking the first hit to her ribs, which almost knocked the wind out of her, Buffy resolved not to take another. And though her resolve broke on more than one occasion, Buffy's constant thought that, "Dawn deserves this. I deserve this. Dawn deserves this," turned Nora from another fighter, just trying to make ends meet, into the only thing standing between her and happiness. The only thing stopping someone like Angel from loving her.

So Buffy moved faster, pushed herself harder, and fought as brutally as she'd ever done, beating the other woman down, smashing her face into a bloody pulp of living flesh. Buffy broke one knuckle, and then another, the pain something distant and nothing to be concerned over, and she kept fighting, she kept hitting back until Nora fell, broken on the cold cement floor.

And then the haze lifted and Buffy saw what she had done, sagging to the floor beside her opponent. "Oh, god," she whispered, watching the other woman carefully. Yes, she was still breathing. There, she was coming to, her swollen eyelids trying to open. "I'm sorry," Buffy said as Spike hauled her up, lifting her arm in victory briefly before casting her aside so the other fights could continue.

And then stronger arms held her, leading her to the side of the room slowly, murmuring that everything was going to be okay.

"Everything's not okay," Buffy insisted. "I … I could have _killed_ her."

"But you didn't," the voice replied, hugging her closer, so warm and strong. "And you wouldn't, Buffy. You're too good at this to kill someone on accident."

"How would you know?" she asked. "How?"

"Because I've done it. I've killed before, and I know, I _know_ that you'd never go down that road. Not even if you had to."

"Who?" she asked, knowing she didn't want the answer, but she couldn't stand not knowing. "Who did you kill?"

"All you need to know is that he was a bad man, Buffy. And it was a long, long time ago."

Finally looking up, Buffy knew not to be surprised that it was Angel holding her, but she was. "What happened to you?"

"You really don't want to know."

"I meant that night. Why? And why the hell are you here now?" Buffy tried to pull away from him, tried to be mad at Angel, but she just found herself hugging him closer.

"I'm so sorry," he said, kissing her hair. When had _anyone_ ever kissed Buffy's hair? Never. Not even as a child. "I just … there's a lot of bad stuff in my past, and I couldn't deal right then. But I can't stand being away from you, Buffy. I can't."

After a few moments of silence, while Buffy thought about Angel's confession, she decided, "I think this calls for some major groveling, buddy."

"Groveling," he chuckled, letting his hold on her loosen so she could look up at him. "I can do that."

"We can start," she sighed, letting him go except for one of his hands, "with you giving me a ride home."

"Right," Angel nodded, following her, his hand gripping Buffy's tightly, as she led him to the betting tables.

"Clem," she said, letting go of Angel's hand so she could gather her things from under the table, "I'm going home."

"And do you want to collect your winnings too, Angel?" Clem asked the man at her side, shooting him a knowing smile.

"Yeah," he nodded, reaching out for Buffy's hand again after she'd put her shoes and sweatshirt back on.

They both collected their money from Clem and then made their way outside and toward the alley where Angel had parked his car. They got in, and as Angel started the engine, he turned to Buffy and said, "Thank you."

"For what?" she asked, holding her broken knuckles and hoping Willow had a splint of some sort.

"For giving me another chance," Angel whispered, giving her a smile in the near darkness that made Buffy glad she was already sitting down. "For winning."

Buffy chuckled, "I couldn't believe it when Clem said you put a bet on me."

"Yeah, well," he replied, pulling the car out of its parking spot and starting down the road. "He said I couldn't keep showing up without betting. And I thought, since I was there to see your fight, I might as well bet on you. Give you a little luck, maybe."

"Thanks," she replied, "but it wasn't luck that helped me win out there."

"You were better than her."

"I was more desperate," Buffy sighed, looking out the window as they rolled through the streets, Angel following her directions as she gave them.

"It doesn't bother you?" Angel asked when they stopped at a long red light. "What I told you earlier?"

"Not really," she said. "Not after what I almost did tonight."

"Knowing when to stop is the important part."

"And you didn't?" When Angel shook his head silently, pulling through the intersection as the light turned green, Buffy asked, "How old were you?"

"Fourteen," he replied, just putting it out there, but Buffy could tell how difficult it was for him to talk about.

"And that's why you freaked out last time?"

"Not that. What happened before … you know," he said sharply, "I think that's my limit for today."

"Okay," Buffy gave in, backing off. "No more questions today. But some other day, maybe?"

"Yeah," Angel sighed, pulling up in front of her house and putting the car in park. "Some other day."

"Some other day," Buffy agreed.

They sat together in silence for some time, Angel giving his hand to Buffy so she could hold it. Eventually though, he spoke up. "If you want me to go away, and keep my traumas to myself, just say so."

"No," Buffy shook her head. "I don't want you to go away again."

Leaning closer and really looking him in the eye, Buffy was almost surprised when Angel closed the distance between them and kissed her softly.

"I'm older than you," he whispered, pulling away again.

"I feel much older than I am."

Angel sighed again, "That doesn't make it right."

"I don't care."

"Do you care enough to just _think_ about finding another way to help your family? Just _think_ about it?"

Nodding, Buffy told him, "I'll think about it, but you, mister, have groveling to do."

"Whatever you want," Angel agreed.

"Um," Buffy said, tapping her chin with one finger. "Meet me back here tomorrow night? Around eleven?"

"Why so late?"

"It's the only time I have free," Buffy shrugged. "And kiss me again."

Smiling, Angel said, "Gladly."

This time, when his lips met hers, Buffy tried to notice everything, but the only things that seemed important were the way he smelled, like soap, and the way her heart fluttered in her chest, like if this went on long enough, she would die of it. And she wouldn't even care.

* * *

_Reviews definitely appreciated. :)_


	6. Anticipation

Chapter 6 - Anticipation

When Buffy woke up the next morning, her hands painful and swollen, but the rest of her body brimming with an intense mixture of excitement and anxiety, she knew her life would never be the same again. Half of this feeling was obviously because of the realization that she could have killed someone – another living breathing human being – and she could never be that person. Even Angel saw it. And the other half of the feeling had to do with him – with the guy called Angel, with that force of soul and eyes and lips that made Buffy shiver whenever she stopped to think for even a second.

Showering and dressing, putting her hair up for the day, Buffy became painfully aware that, yes, her knuckles were broken. And yes, she would need to see the doctor about it. And yes, that would cost more money that she didn't have. At least winning the night before had let Buffy break even with where she'd been before that disastrous fight with Glory. Maybe she could splint her own knuckles. Or better yet, maybe she could get Giles to do it for free. Yes, that sounded like the best option. Pay a visit to her old boxing teacher, mention that she'd fallen on her hand, get him to patch it up. Buffy was a genius, no doubt about it!

Later that day, after school when she was actually standing in front of Giles, under the weight of his disapproving gaze, Buffy took it back. She wasn't a genius. She was pretty dumb actually.

"How did you get these again?" Giles asked her in his careless British accent, more like Spike's than Buffy would care to admit, as he wrapped tape around the first splint.

"Um," Buffy replied, heart beating in guilty overtime, "I fell?"

"Try again, Miss Summers," the man insisted, finishing the first knuckle and moving on to the next.

"I was attacked by wild dogs?"

"Not even close. You know your mother made me promise, when you first started coming here –"

"Yeah, I know Giles," Buffy interrupted him. "I know."

"So, would you like to tell a third story?"

"Fine," the girl sighed, rolling her eyes. "I got into a fight."

"And did some real damage by the look of these injuries," Giles observed, frowning at Buffy until she looked away, unable to meet his eyes again. "I know you don't want to hear this, Buffy –"

"Well then, don't say it. See? Simple enough."

Giles just kept his eyes on her for half a moment before shaking his head and continuing. "I'm worried about you. This isn't the first time in the past few months I've seen you with bruises. Or with scraped knuckles."

"I'm handling it, Giles," Buffy insisted, watching as the boxing instructor finished wrapping her hand.

"No," he replied gruffly, "I don't think you are."

"It's not your problem," she tried to tell him, bending away to gather her things, but Giles touched her shoulder gently, turning her back.

"My problem or not," he said with a sigh, "I'm not going to turn a blind eye to this anymore. If I see you injured again, Buffy, I _will_ let your mother know what's been going on."

Snapping away from his touch, something like betrayal crushing her chest, Buffy struggled to find the words she needed. Giles had been such a big part of her life here in Sunnydale. And now that she couldn't train here, she'd still enjoyed visiting on occasion. But that was over. Buffy had to move on. To give her sister what she deserved, Buffy had to keep fighting. No matter how many disappointed looks Giles gave her. No matter his threats to go to her mother. No matter how much trouble she might get into. No matter Angel's protests. What was done was done.

Shaking and fighting back tears of grief, Buffy walked away from Giles, saying softly over her shoulder, "Then I guess you won't see me."

Buffy reached the gym's front door, the afternoon sun glaring off the parking lot and blinding her before Giles called out, "Buffy!"

She left.

* * *

Buffy hadn't gotten far before her phone rang, sounding harsh and unforgiving to her ears. Sniffling back tears she couldn't afford, the girl hopped up into her mother's Jeep and answered, "Yes?"

"'lo, love," Spike's voice flitted into her ear, making Buffy gnash her teeth in annoyance and anger.

"What do you want?"

"Now, now. Best to be watchin' the manners, eh?"

Sighing, Buffy put on the best act she could manage and growled, "Hello, Spike. What can I do for you today?" _Bastard_, she added mentally.

"That's better," Spike replied, and Buffy could hear his smile, all flashing, pointy canines. "I've got a fight for you, Saturday night."

"I can't get away on Saturday," she told him, digging her keys out of her sweatshirt pocket. "Book me some other night."

"Oh no, love," Spike whispered, his voice going a deadly shade of cold that Buffy had never heard before. "You're going to take this fight. And would you like to know why?"

Knowing she could really live quite happily in ignorance, Buffy squeaked out, "No."

"I'm gonna tell you anyway. So buck up and pay attention, yeah?"

Almost shivering at that tone, her heart thumping against her ribs, Buffy cleared her throat and said, "I'm listening."

Spike huffed once, his breath hissing over the telephone connection, before he enunciated very clearly, "You will fight on Saturday. You will make a good show of it, and then you will lose. Do you understand, pet?"

"That's not fair!" Buffy cried, forgetting for a moment the mood her boss was in. "I _need_ to win!"

"No!" Spike barked at her, before his voice returned to that cool, silky-smooth, frightening tone. "You _need_ to stay on my good side, Buff. You _need_ to do as I say, or you might not like the consequences."

"Consequences?"

"Sister's quite pretty, duck. Be a shame if somethin' happened to her. Or poor ol' mum."

Gasping in terror, Buffy cried, "Leave them out of this, Spike! I'm the one you deal with, got it?"

"Jus' keep following orders, kitten," Spike replied, his voice warming slightly, "and we'll make sure to keep it that way. Ta."

When the line went dead, Buffy lowered the phone from her ear, trying to decide whether or not to take her frustrations out on this little piece of machinery. Gritting her teeth, she decided against smashing the phone into tiny little bits, because then she would just have to buy a new one.

Instead, she sat in her car, willing away the tears because she had no time for them. Dawn would be done at school shortly, and expecting a ride home. And Mom, well she needed some things from the store, from the pharmacy, and Buffy was the one in charge of fetching them. So, she had to forget everything else, forget about Spike, forget about Giles, and yes, even forget about Angel, until everything was done for the day. Until dinner was made, dishes were done, homework slapped together, and Angel on his way home. There was just no other option.

And Buffy had learned, quite awhile ago, that breaking down alone, in the seat of her mother's car, in the middle of a busy day, was definitely _not_ an option.

* * *

"And so, you'll be available for a meeting tomorrow?" the man asked Angel, who sat in his tiny leased office, clutching the phone's handset and trying not to gush at what promised to be a very generous client.

"Yes, sir," he replied, schooling his voice into something professional, calmer than what he actually felt, but warmer than the gruff voice he'd cultivated at his last job. The one that could stop certain situations before they started, the one that would make decent people just give up, and give in to whatever his boss asked of them. Angel hated that voice, and he hated all the times here, in his new life, when he was tempted to use it. "What time would you like to come in?"

"I really only have lunch-time available. Would you meet me at Chez Louis? One o'clock?"

"Of course, Mr. Baguley," Angel agreed, nodding – to himself in the empty office – and hoping the client would foot the entire bill. Otherwise he'd have to order water and a piece of bread, and look like the sorriest excuse for a professional the man had ever seen. "I'll see you there."

"Very good," the man said sharply, before disengaging the line.

As he hung up the phone, Angel couldn't help it. He smiled. He smiled with relief and hope. Because he'd gotten his father's ring back today, safe and sound. Because Buffy had kissed him, despite what he'd told her about his past. Because Richard Baguley IV wanted to hire him. Because it was sunny. Hell, just because he'd almost forgotten what it felt like, and he needed the reminder on occasion.

Absently, Angel leaned back in his chair as his smile faded, the muscles too unused to sustain it for long, put his feet up on the desk, and fingered the chain around his neck. He'd missed the weight during the twenty four hours he'd been without the sole piece of jewelry he possessed and having it back was a nice feeling, like welcoming an old friend.

The ring really was too small for any of his fingers, save maybe his pinky if he shoved hard enough, but his father _had_ been a shorter man. Angel knew that his mother's brothers, what he could remember of them, were all lanky, and his Aunt Meredith, Da's sister, was no pixie, so he shouldn't have been surprised that he turned out to be a fairly tall man. He shouldn't have, but he was.

And now, knowing that this small ring had fit his father's hands perfectly bewildered him, because his father had always seemed so _big_. This ring had even seemed so much larger when Meredith first gave it to him. That's why she'd gotten him the chain, so it wouldn't slip from one of his fingers, so he wouldn't lose it on accident. The ring had fit, for about four months when he was sixteen, but wearing it anywhere except around his neck just felt wrong.

This sense of wrongness was nothing new to Angel. It was a daily feeling, something he'd never been able to shake. All through his time living with Meredith, all through the years after that, when he and Darla had shacked up together for no good reason, other than spending less money on rent and more money on her, the wrongness persisted. Even when Darla showed up – after they'd been apart for a few months – her belly swollen, what prevented Angel from seeing that moment as something right and wonderful were the cigarette hanging from her mouth and the dark circles under her eyes.

The only things that Angel could ever remember feeling just right were occasionally falling asleep in his parents' bed as a small boy, and holding his son in his arms for five brief minutes before Darla took him away.

It wasn't much of a track record. But, Angel had felt the beginnings of _something_ the night before, with Buffy. It didn't feel right yet, but it didn't feel wrong either. It had this weird in-between sort of quality that Angel found compelling, like if he worked at it hard enough, maybe the wrongness would dissolve away, and being with that strange, sad girl would feel right.

Before that would happen though, Angel decided, Buffy would have to give up these illegal fights. Angel had lied when he told the girl she could never, ever kill someone. He'd recognized the determined, desperate, and single-minded look in her eyes during that fight. He'd seen the way she'd almost continued hitting after the other woman was down. Angel had seen that Buffy, like everyone, could become a killer, given the right circumstances. And he didn't want that to happen to her. Because this feeling, whatever made almost everything in his life feel upsetting and out of place, was conceived that one terrible night, when he was fourteen, and was born when Angel took a life, two months later.

If he could spare Buffy this feeling, he would. He'd give up almost anything, save the ring held between his fingers and his son, to keep her from falling into whatever had claimed him eleven years ago. She could be better than that. She was, and could stay, so much better than him. And Angel knew that she was worth it.

* * *

Angel traced the path back to Buffy's house carefully, wanting to make sure he got it right. Hers was an odd neighborhood for Southern California. All the houses looked more like the ones he'd seen living with Aunt Meredith in Boston – he wasn't sure what the style was called, but the roofs were more slanted, covered in rough shingles rather than terra cotta, and the houses themselves were covered in wooden siding, or brick.

He wondered how many of these people, how many of the families that lived on Buffy's block, were truly happy. Did they worry about Aunts who were just starting to show their age? Did they worry about sons they weren't sure they'd ever see again? Did they dream about blond-haired girls that they couldn't quite categorize? Did they know the guilt of having taken lives? Did they know the grief of having lives taken before their time? Was their pain anything like his?

Angel's thoughts were interrupted suddenly when Buffy joined him in the car, sliding down into the passenger's seat, shutting the door behind her, and saying, "Hi, Angel."

"Uh," he said, startled into silence. The girl was wearing a cardigan and jeans, her hair up in a ponytail that she'd brushed forward over her shoulder. Angel knew that she should still have a black eye, but it was hidden carefully with makeup and he couldn't see it by the streetlamp. "Um, hi. Buffy. Hi."

"Yeah," she smiled, settling back into her seat, "I got that part. Thanks for coming."

Before responding with a soft, "You're welcome," Angel studied Buffy's face in the dim lighting. Though she was trying to put on a brave and happy face, Angel could tell, by the tilt of her eyes and the way her brows furrowed together just a little too much, that something was wrong. "How are you?" he asked, guessing that was as good a starting point as any.

"I'm okay," she lied – right to his face – but he let it go, knowing that sometimes, things were just too painful to share. With anyone. Including damn court-appointed psychologists who should really just learn to mind their own fucking business. With a little chuckle, Buffy held up her bandaged hand, the middle and pinky fingers splinted strait up, and said, "My hand has been better."

"Yeah," Angel sighed in empathy, wanting to do something to make her feel better. So, he turned to face her, sideways in his seat, and brushed the backs of his knuckles down her cheek. Oh, God. She felt so soft, and though the surface of her skin felt chilled from the night air, Angel could feel the simmering heat beneath the skin, coming off her breath in hot waves. Just touching her was too much for Angel to handle safely. He should really back off. Any second now … Or now.

"How –" Buffy stumbled over her words as he pulled his hand away, her big eyes meeting his. "How are you, Angel?"

"Better than I have been in a long time," he replied, truthfully for once. Normally when people asked Angel how he was, all they really wanted to know was whether or not he was still breathing. Buffy seemed to actually care, to be concerned over his welfare in a way that almost no one had since he'd moved to the States.

Smiling up at him as she turned to face Angel – whose heart was beating all together too quickly – Buffy whispered, "I'm glad. When I saw you from outside the car, you looked a little broody again."

With a shrug, Angel said, "I'm good at that."

Buffy laughed, a little louder this time, forcing the second smile of the day onto Angel's lips. "So," Buffy said, her voice light and happy coming off their shared laughter, "what else should I know about you? What's your last name?"

He hadn't told her his full name, yet? It occurred to Angel that Buffy knew more about him than anyone else in this town. It was absurd that she didn't know this insignificant fact. "O'Connor."

Nodding, Buffy replied, "That's a good name."

"It's alright," he shrugged. "I almost changed it."

With a little sound of surprise, Buffy asked, "Why?"

Sighing, Angel made his decision and said with a determination he wasn't sure he felt, "Okay. You might not like this, but it's something you'll have to know." After pausing to take and release a deep breath, Angel said, "I have a son. He's ten months old. His name is Connor."

Buffy stared at him for a moment, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion, until she asked, "You named your son Connor O'Connor?"

"_I_ didn't name him," Angel insisted. "My ex-named him Connor, and gave him her last name. Winthrop. I think it was her way of making me feel like I could never really have him, you know? Like he wasn't mine."

Concerned, she asked, "But he is?"

"Yeah," Angel told her finally looking away with a sigh. "He's definitely mine." Watching Buffy out of the corner of his eye, Angel waited for a moment before asking, "Are you okay with this?"

"I just have one more question," she said, turning a hard eye on Angel, looking so critical that he blushed in the darkness. "Did you leave him in Boston with all those people you wanted to get away from?"

Ashamed, Angel struggled before spitting out the truth, "Yes."

"How could you do that?" she cried, voice rough. "How could you just _leave_ him?"

Shaking his head and taking the girl's hand, even though she tried to pull away, Angel replied, "The judge wouldn't even let me see him, Buffy. It was torture being anywhere near him and not being able to see him, to watch him grow up. And Darla wouldn't …" he sighed again. "I came here to start over. To make something of myself before I appeal for custody. Hopefully before he's old enough to miss me."

"Oh," Buffy whispered, giving her hand over to him gently. "I guess that makes sense."

Angel let her think for a few moments, holding her hand and trying not to let himself slip back into all the bad memories he had of Connor's mother. And then, squeezing Buffy's hand to get her attention, he asked, "Are you okay with this? "

"Hey," she said with a shrug, "we've all got skeletons in the closet, right? I'm glad you told me right away."

Angel thought about what he knew of Buffy Summers. She took care of her sick mother and her sister. "Your father doesn't live with you, does he?"

"No," Buffy shook her head. "He left."

"I don't want to be like that with my son," Angel assured her. "I want to be there for him. I just have to prove myself first."

"I get it," Buffy said, smiling at him and shifting closer.

Looking out to the road beyond the windshield, Angel asked, "Do you want to just sit here, or would you like me to take you somewhere? I know this diner that has great pie."

With a smile, Buffy replied, "I'll have to take a rain check. If my mom wakes up and finds me gone, I'd rather be just outside than somewhere else."

"Should I go? You probably need to get some sleep."

"No," Buffy pouted, squeezing Angel's hand in hers. "Not yet."

As Angel felt the third smile of the day break over his face, he teased her, "Be careful. You may start to like having me around."

Buffy smiled down at their clasped hands and told him, "I already like having you around."

That quiet admission rocked Angel more than it should have. It made his heart clench and his lungs hold their breath until he let it out in a whoosh of relief, that third smile still stuck stupidly on his face. And then, growing bolder, Angel let his free hand touch Buffy's face again, his thumb brushing her cheekbone, the tips of his fingers curled gently under her jaw and chin.

And Angel just looked at her, catching her eyes in the almost darkness, trying to remember exactly what color of green they were, and realizing he'd never really seen her during the day, in the sun. If he were a betting man, which he really wasn't, he'd put down his life savings on the possibility that her beauty would be ten-fold greater in the sunlight. And he hoped she'd let him stick around long enough for that to happen.

He'd been so caught up in thinking about how Buffy might look in the sunlight, that when she licked her lips nervously, it startled him and he almost let her go. But then, the moisture on her bottom lip caught the light from somewhere, glinting just a little, and Angel couldn't help but moisten his own lips and press them to hers, using his hand on her chin to tilt her just enough that they wouldn't bump noses. God, she was so warm! Her lips on his almost burned, the delicate skin sliding gently as she kissed him back, her breath sliding lightly across his cheek.

Forgetting shy he shouldn't let this happen, forgetting how late it was and that he should say goodnight, forgetting everything else about his past that he hadn't yet told Buffy, Angel kissed her. He let his hand slide back into her hair and pulled her other hand up to his chest, pulling her closer to him, even though the armrests and the shifter separated their lower halves quite frustratingly. And then, with a little sigh, Buffy's tongue brushed Angel's lower lip and he felt like nothing had ever been better than this moment.

Breath thundering through his nose, Angel tasted the girl in his arms, his tongue dipping into her mouth and gently brushing hers before retreating, allowing him to press his lips against hers more insistently. Holy shit, she tasted good. Sweet, almost, and no trace of blood this time, thankfully. And sexy as hell. Oh, God. Angel knew she was young, underage and all, but every anxious molecule of his body screamed out for _her_. For Buffy. To see her, naked in the light. To touch her everywhere. To hear what noises he could coax from her throat. To be hers, to make her his. Completely.

But they weren't ready for that, not yet. Not nearly, given her age. So he would have to make do with this. And, as Angel kissed Buffy, holding her hand tightly and trying not to let his lips press too hard against hers, their tongues meeting briefly every few seconds, he thought maybe that wouldn't be so bad.

* * *

_A/N: Alright, so the story progresses, and I'd like to know what you thought, so please review. Also, if you could vote for whether you want me to write the rest of the chapters keeping with the "T" rating, or to change it to "M", that would be helpful. At this point, I could really go either way on the issue, so let me know how much you want to see. :) _


	7. Gains and Losses

_Previously on _The Prizefighter_: Buffy broke her ties with a concerned Giles and accepted Spike's orders to throw her next fight, realizing he gave her no other choice. Angel scheduled a promising meeting and felt himself growing closer to Buffy, revealing much of his past to her – including the fact that he has a ten-month-old son. He finds himself happier than he has been in a long time, knowing nothing of the dubious deal Buffy made with her employer._

* * *

The Prizefighter

Chapter 7 – Gains and Losses

Angel arrived at Chez Louis for his meeting with Mr. Baguley exactly thirty-eight minutes early, which was ridiculous. Angel recognized that it was ridiculous, but he'd been so anxious for this meeting to come and be over with, in between the almost constant thoughts of Buffy, that he'd hardly gotten any sleep. His stomach was twisted into a metallic-tasting knot, and he hadn't even met the man yet. This meeting was big, it was important like none of the others he'd had. _Just don't fuck it up_, he told himself, sitting in the restaurant's waiting area and trying to look more like a professional and less like a possibly soon-to-be homeless guy soaking in the atmosphere of wealth and privilege that he'd never had.

At two minutes after one, Mr. Baguley showed up, greeting Angel with a strong handshake and following briskly after the hostess to be seated. As Angel took a hesitant sip of water, trying not to spill it all over himself, the man across the table looked up and said, "So, Mr. O'Connor. As I said on the phone, my associate, Frank Lancaster, recommended your services."

Lancaster was a case he'd had just after arriving in Sunnydale, and one of the ones he'd managed to do right. Mr. Lancaster, a loud and angry man, had come barging into his office one day demanding Angel find his wayward daughter, no matter what the cost. That had been the case that made Angel think maybe this business wasn't a completely bad idea. Though time had tried to convince him otherwise. "I'm glad Mr. Lancaster thought of me," Angel replied to Mr. Baguley, managing to project a calm he was far from feeling.

"Yes, well," Baguley nodded, skimming the menu, "I just hope your skills are what I need for this assignment. Do you like steak, Mr. O'Connor?"

"Uh," he replied, thrown off by the question and watching as the rich man summoned their waiter. As the apron-clad man hurried over, Angel answered, "Yes?"

"Oh, good." Without further ado, Mr. Baguley ordered for both of them before sending the waiter away again. "I hate all these new fangled meat-is-murder types, don't you?"

"Sure," Angel agreed, though he didn't really have an opinion one way or the other. Angel had always been taught, "To each his own," but he figured in business, the customer was always right. Right?

During the course of the meal, Angel's client proceeded to describe the problem. He believed that his right hand man and protégé, Ryan Faulkner, was unknowingly divulging secrets to one of his competitors, through a romantic liaison. Said competitors had anticipated Baguley's moves time and time again, and one had even gone so far as to blackmail him into bowing out of a bidding war.

"So you want me to find out who Faulkner's girlfriend is?" Angel asked, jotting down some of the names Baguley had given him.

"Mmm, yes," the man replied, blotting his mouth with an impeccably white cloth napkin. "And then whom exactly said girlfriend is working for. I've tried finding out this information straight from the horse's mouth, as it were, but Ryan has always been tight-lipped about his private life. Which usually suits me just fine. And I just can't believe that he'd be leaking this information on purpose."

"Would you like me to check Mr. Faulkner out as well? To make sure his motives are as you believe them to be?"

"No, not at the moment," Baguley replied, finishing off his glass of wine. "How long do you think it will take, to find out the identity of the confidante?"

"It depends," Angel told him, trying not to shrug. "Do you know how often Mr. Faulkner meets with his lady friend?"

"I'm afraid not, though I have suspicions. Will doubling your standard rate have any effect on how quickly this gets done?"

"Oh," Angel gulped, wide-eyed as Mr. Baguley stood, and Angel jumped out of his seat to join him. "Yes, of course it would."

"Good, because I need this information by next Wednesday. I've got a big deal going down, and I need Ryan's full involvement to pull this off. I can't just cut him out of everything until I know what's going on. I don't have that luxury, Mr. O'Connor."

"No, of course not," Angel agreed, though he was betting Mr. Baguley had just about every other luxury that could be had here in Sunnydale.

"So, I am willing to pay you double your hourly rate, plus expenses," the man told Angel as they walked together from the restaurant and out to his waiting car, "if you get me this information by nine am Wednesday morning. However, if you fail, only expenses will be covered. Do we have a deal?"

Angel realized that this was a big gamble. He might get paid nothing for a week's worth of trouble. But, he hadn't had any paying clients for so long, that he decided any job was worth the risk. Nodding, Angel shook Richard Baguley's hand, saying, "Deal."

"Keep in touch, Mr. O'Connor," the man said as he released Angel's hand and got into his car, driving away before Angel could even think to wave in farewell.

This was the break Angel had been waiting for. This was the possibility that had lured him here to Sunnydale, and had kept him from slinking back to his old employers in Boston. This is the case that would allow him to be with Buffy, for as long as she would have him.

So, Angel worked like a dog. Day and night he followed Ryan Faulkner. He read every public record – and some sealed ones – about the man. He got so familiar with the man's features, slim and athletic, like a runner, in his early thirties, reddish-auburn hair, and a full goatee, that Angel figured he could have picked Faulkner out of a line-up even if he was wearing sunglasses and a fat suit.

While waiting for Faulkner to move from place to place during his busy day, Angel thought a lot about Buffy, and how she might be doing. She called him once, like she had promised to do, leaving a message on his answering machine because when she called, he was out, working himself half to death, fueled by nothing more than coffee and stubbornness. Why hadn't he given her his cell phone number? Smacking his head at the oversight, Angel called Buffy back the next morning, but the call went straight to voice mail, and then he realized that she must have been in school.

For God's sake! He was dating a girl in _high school_. He never thought he would be one of those guys, one of those creeps going after women obviously too young for him. But Buffy felt older, didn't she? She felt like she was seventeen going on thirty. Because he couldn't help himself, one day when Angel was at Town Hall, looking through the public records, he requested Buffy's information. And there it was, on the monitor, black and white, her birth date. Late January. And it was already the beginning of December, though you wouldn't know it from looking outside in this climate.

Less than two months. Surely Angel could wait that long. No problem. Since they were moving slowly for both their sakes, he thought it might just take them that long to sleep together anyway. Though he realized that he didn't really have a good knack for how long these things _should _take, since Darla had been his only real relationship. And she was somewhat of a … 'whore' seemed unkind, but true.

So, Angel managed to talk to Buffy in person for five minutes on Friday night, giving her his phone number and explaining why he was so busy and promising that he would love to see her when the job was over. He promised her dinner. He promised her anything she wanted. And now, he just had to live up to those promises.

So, on Saturday night, when he should have been spending time with Buffy, instead he was following Ryan Faulkner to a dance club two hours away in Los Angeles. A long line wound around the block from the Club Caldera entrance and somehow, Faulkner managed to skip the entire line, and get in right away.

Angel paced back and forth along the sidewalk for a moment, trying to decide what to do. It was Saturday and Faulkner was sure to be meeting his girlfriend here and now, something that he hadn't done all week, according to Angel's meticulous surveillance. So, Angel had to get in.

Quickly, he slipped sixty bucks from his wallet, wondering if Baguley would pay him back for expenses like this, for which he couldn't get a receipt, and approached the doorman. Before Angel could even speak, the man took one look at Angel's face and waved him through. No bribe necessary.

Not one to question good luck, Angel walked into the club, pocketing his money and wondering how the hell he would find Faulkner in all these bodies. There were people everywhere he looked, and almost no way to slip through the crowd. So, he decided his first order of business was getting a drink, to better blend in. After that was accomplished and Angel walked away from the bar, whiskey in hand, it took almost an hour of deflecting dancing bodies and several interested women, all of whom were more age-appropriate than Buffy Summers, to find Ryan Faulkner.

Angel almost choked on his drink when he finally saw the man, dancing up against a wall with another man, lips pressed together now and again. Oh, there was no mistaking this. Ryan Faulkner had a _boyfriend_, a fact which he'd kept from his boss for who knows what reasons. Maybe Baguley would have fired Faulkner if he'd known his protégé's bedroom preferences. No matter, Angel thought. He just had to figure out who this boyfriend was slipping secrets to, and perhaps why.

A few minutes later, Angel followed the friend back toward the bathrooms, keeping his distance so he wouldn't draw the man's attention. However, as soon as he left the thumping overwhelming din of the dance floor and the bathroom door closed behind him, Angel's phone rang in his pocket, disrupting the relative silence. Taking a look, he saw it was Buffy calling. At almost one o'clock on a Saturday night. Heart up in his throat and convinced something had to be wrong, he answered the phone, not really caring that Faulkner's friend was watching him, instead of the other way around as he'd planned.

"Buffy?" he answered, turning his back on the man, but keeping one eye on his reflection in the mirror. "What's wrong? I told you I'd be …" he was going to say working, but couldn't in front of the man he was investigating, "… busy."

"I know," she replied, her voice a hoarse whisper he could barely hear. "I'm sorry," Buffy continued, and this time, Angel heard the sobs she was trying to hold back.

"What happened?" Angel asked, terrified for her. Buffy didn't seem like the type of girl who would cry at the drop of a hat. Something was seriously wrong. "Is it your mom?"

"No," Buffy assured him. "No. Just…"

"What?" Angel asked, watching his target leave the room, hands unwashed. He thought about following for half a second, but this phone call felt infinitely more important than the biggest job of his life.

"Just, can you come pick me up?"

"Yeah," Angel agreed right away. There would be other nights, other ways to find out what he needed to about Ryan Faulkner's transgressions. "Where are you?"

"Outside Willow's house," Buffy confessed after a moment.

"Why aren't you inside?" he asked, really starting to worry about her now.

Sighing, the girl replied, "You'll see when you get here."

Thinking that sounded decidedly ominous, Angel realized, "I'm in LA. It's going to be a while before I get there."

"But you'll come?"

"If you promise not to freeze to death in the mean time."

"Alright," she replied, so softly that Angel wasn't sure he heard her over the music as a man threw open the door, stumbling past Angel toward the urinal. "See you then," she continued, a little louder before hanging up.

Angel stared at his silent phone for half a moment before deciding that he should really get moving. Who knew what would happen to her while she waited. He should have told her to go home, or get Willow's help, or something. But no, she was waiting for him, and he needed to get there, right away.

As he fought his way across the dance floor, eyes again flicking to Ryan Faulkner and his friend, Angel felt the loss of the case deep in his gut, like it was slipping through his fingers. He'd promised Buffy without thinking it through, because she needed him. And yet, how good for her would he be if he ended up homeless and penniless?

So, making one last-ditch effort, Angel caught the bartender's attention, waving the man over and asking, "Do you know who that is?" Pointing, Angel described the man – tall, blond hair, dark clothes, clean shaven.

"Oh, yeah," the bartended nodded. "Jeff? He's our manager. Though any night Ryan's in town, he's more interested in dancing than in managing."

"Great!" Angel replied, trying to hide the relief at his extreme good fortune. "Do you happen to know Jeff's last name?"

"Why do you want to know?" the man said, suddenly turning suspicious. "You aren't gonna sue, are you?"

"What?" Angel replied, dumbfounded by the question. "Why would I sue?"

"Jeff bought a bad batch of margarita mix a few months ago," the bartender confessed. "Lots of people either got sick, or got hung over and claimed to be sick. Cost us a lot of money, Jeff included."

"No," the detective shook his head. Coming up with a story, he tried, "I just thought I recognized him from school, and wanted to know if he was the same guy I was thinking of." To finish it off, Angel gave the bartender the friendliest smile he could manage.

"Oh," the man said, returning Angel's smile. "He's Jeff Gales."

"Nope," Angel shook his head and set a five dollar bill down on the bar. "Not the same guy. Thanks anyway."

"Hey, thanks," the bartender called after him, as Angel escaped the club, mind full of this small victory and whatever trouble Buffy had found herself in now.

* * *

Saturday evening rolled around too quickly for Buffy's liking, but she knew she had to go through with the fight. Her close call with the goons outside Spike's warehouse had shown her she wasn't as invulnerable as she'd always felt. And if it meant her sister or her mother taking the fall for her mistakes? That wasn't something Buffy could abide.

So, she jogged to the ring from Willow's house, again taking only a sweatshirt and her cell phone, slinking in to the building as quietly as possible. Secretly, in the back of her heart, she wished that if she had to be here, if she had to lose this fight, Angel would be here to see her through it. But he was busy working and Buffy couldn't pull him into her crazy life anymore than she already had. They barely knew each other, and she had no right to ask him to be there. So why, as she made her way across the warehouse towards Spike, did she search the crowd for a dark head, held high above all the others, and dark, soulful eyes that sucked her in like the rest of the world ceased to exist? Why did she look for him?

"There you are, pet," Spike greeted Buffy, his customary sneer firmly in place. "Thought maybe you wouldn't show."

"You said I had to be here," Buffy ground out through clenched teeth, watching two big guys circle around each other as the first fight started, "so I'm here."

"That you are, Buff," Spike replied, setting his arm around Buffy's shoulder and leaning in close. "You're up next, luv. And you're gonna remember my instructions, aren't ya?"

"I know," she nodded, shrugging Spike's arm away. "I make a good show of it, and then go down."

"Exactly right, kitten," her boss nodded, his hot, tobacco-tinged breath in Buffy's face. "Do as you're told, and I'll make it up to you next week. Don't and …" Spike smirked at her again, leaving his threat in the air as he wandered away, working the crowd and keeping one eye on the current fight.

Shuddering, Buffy gravitated toward Clem's table, taking a roll of tape from her sweatshirt pocket so she could start wrapping her wrists.

"Hey, Buffy," Clem greeted her with a little wave. Of all the people she'd had to deal with since taking up this profession, Clem was the only one she liked. She knew he was Spike's man, through and through, but something about his friendly manner and straightforwardness made her trust him. And call him her friend.

"Hi, Clem," she replied, trying to be brave and look happy for his sake, but the concern swamping his eyes told her she'd failed.

"Where's that nice guy of yours, Buff?" Clem asked, standing up and patting her carefully on the shoulder. "That Angel man?"

"Working," Buffy told him, relaying the message. Angel had told her all about his big case and how busy he'd be trying to finish it, including staking out his target tonight. Buffy hoped she could trust him, and hoped that he would live up to the promises he made. It would be nice to count on someone besides herself for once in a very long time.

"Oh, well," Clem replied. "Probably better he didn't come tonight, huh?"

"You know what's supposed to happen?" Buffy asked him, incredulous. She didn't think Spike would share her orders with anyone, on the off chance that his cheating would be uncovered.

"Yeah," Clem replied, watching as he scuffed the floor with the toe of his shoe. "It happens from time to time, when the boss owes _his_ boss a lot of dough."

"Great," the girl scoffed, hoping that this would be the only time Spike would ask her to do this, and would pick on someone else the next time he had a bill he couldn't pay.

"Buck up," Clem told her, with a final pat to her shoulder as he stepped back behind his table. "It'll be over soon." Sitting down, he pointed to the ring, where Spike was declaring a big dark-skinned man with incredibly wide shoulders the winner. Seeing Spike next to that guy, Buffy imagined the boxer breaking her boss in half like a twig, and had to hide the smile that sprung to her lips at the image. He wasn't so big, and he wasn't so bad, and soon, like Clem insisted, this nightmare would be over.

Leaving her stuff with Clem, Buffy finished taping her wrists, flexed her broken knuckles with an experimental hiss, and stalked to the ring when called. Her opponent that night, a girl named Sandra, stood just a little taller than Buffy and as the two stepped into the ring to face one another, Buffy could tell that Sandra was slow. Slow, without the power to back up that vulnerability.

The bell rang and Buffy circled her opponent, becoming more and more certain that on any other night, this Sandra chick would have been easy to take down quickly. Just a few punches in the right places, and mercifully, the fight would be over. But Spike's threats rang in her ears and she knew he must be playing the odds, knowing all his regulars would bet on Buffy, the obviously better fighter.

Spike had said to make it look good, and Buffy realized that she had no idea how to follow that order. If she slowed down to Sandra's speed, the audience would notice. If she hit lighter than usual, the audience would notice. But then again, if she ended up winning, Spike would notice.

So, Buffy did her best. She let hits fall when normally they would have been easy to dodge. She pulled her punches and her occasional kicks, hitting the other girl, but doing far less damage than usual. She tried so hard, but then Sandra hit Buffy square in the nose, making her head rattle with the pain and her eyes water. Without thinking, Buffy retaliated against the pain and hit back, harder than she'd meant to. The punch caught her opponent on the cheekbone, whipping her head sideways and making Sandra stumble and fall.

Holding her breath in terror, Buffy silently begged the girl, _get up! Get up, Sandra! Please, get up!_ But it was hopeless. The girl was out cold, the bell was ringing, and Spike was savagely raising Buffy's arm, declaring her the victor in a strained voice to the cheering crowd.

Then, Spike pulled her from the ring and away from the crowd, one hand clamped painfully around her left wrist and the other snapping his fingers at one of Spike's men to keep the fights going. Buffy tried to pull away more than once, but she could tell by the look on Spike's face that it would be better to come along without too much trouble. Especially because it wasn't just her safety at sake, it was Dawn's and her mother's as well.

Taking Buffy into one of the offices at the back of the warehouse, Spike shoved her into the room, slamming the door behind him so loudly that Buffy started, jumping a little as her heart hammered up through her throat. "I'm sorry," she whispered at Spike's glare. "It was an accident."

"An _accident_?" Spike asked her, voice cool and even and brimming with fury. "How much did you put down, pet? How much did you think you'd take me for, you right _bitch_?"

Suddenly, Spike pushed Buffy up against one wall of the office, clamping his fingers around her throat to hold her there. "How much?"

"Nothing," Buffy choked out angrily, pulling at Spike's hand as if to loosen it. "I didn't put any money in. Ask Clem, he'll tell you!"

"_Clem_, my dear girl," Spike growled, tightening his grip and making Buffy almost panicked with fear, "will tell me _exactly_ what I want to hear. So get this through that thick skull of yours, kitten," Spike squeezed her neck tighter, making Buffy's breath difficult to draw and her head dizzy and light. Then, he brought his other fist up, striking Buffy harshly just under her ribs, knocking what little wind she had left right out of her. "I am _not_ a man to be trifled with. You _will_ earn back every cent you lost for me tonight, and then some. Or I promise you, little Dawn will disappear after school one day, never to be found again. Do I make myself clear?"

Tears falling rebelliously from her eyes, Buffy nodded as well as she could with Spike's hand clamped around her throat. Her lungs burned for fresh air, her eyes threatened to black out, and all Buffy could think about was insuring the safety of her little sister. At least until she found some way to get out from under this scumbag's heel. After one more punch to drive his point home, Spike let Buffy loose, leaving the office and slamming the door again behind him.

Gasping deep breaths of air that still didn't want to come, Buffy fell to her hands and knees, choking and sobbing until there was only one thought left in her mind. Angel.

With trembling fingers, Buffy opened the office door, using the knob to pull herself standing and edged her way around the warehouse. Clem, in an act of kindness that Buffy appreciated, though she kept reminding herself exactly who the man was truly loyal to, brought the girl her things and ushered her from the building, his table apparently watched by one of his colleagues.

"I'm sorry, Buffy," Clem whispered as he threw the sweatshirt over Buffy's shoulders just outside the warehouse door.

"I know," she replied, tugging on her shoes and limping away, the ache in her side really starting to set in and little droplets of blood now falling from her nose, mixing with the tears flooding over her eyelids and down her cheeks toward her mouth, making their salty presence known. Shaking from head to foot as her legs carried her back toward her best friend's house, Buffy pulled her phone from the sweatshirt pocket, scrolling to the one name she could think of, and dialed.

"Buffy?" The sound of Angel's voice echoed like he was standing in a big, empty room, but it calmed Buffy just the same. "What's wrong?"

* * *

_A/N: Thanks for everyone who has read and reviewed or is following this fic on story alert. I'm ever so flattered by all of it. So, yeah…keep 'em coming!_

_I've stuck with the teen rating for now, but I might have to change it soon. If so, I try to keep things non-explicit, but the maturity level of the story itself might push it up there into M. Plus, most of you voted for the switch! :P_

_Thanks again for reading and sticking with me!_


	8. This Moment

_A/N: This story grew too intense to maintain a 'T' rating. There's nothing too explicit here, but it's definitely mature material, so I changed the rating, for safety's sake. Plus, all but two of you voted for 'M'! ;)  
_

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The Prizefighter Chapter 8 – This Moment

Angel drove as fast as he could, tearing down the freeway in the middle of the night and praying there weren't any cops around to see him. He just couldn't get the sound of Buffy's sobs out of his brain. He'd tried turning on the radio, but didn't find anything he could tolerate listening to, so he drove in silence, the only sound the roar of the engine, the rumble of the tires rolling over concrete, and the sad whisper of Buffy's voice in his ears.

**

Aching all over, Buffy kept walking towards Willow's house, because that's where she agreed to meet Angel. But he was coming from LA, so she had some time. To calm down, to wrap her arms tightly around herself and hold on like she might come to pieces at any moment, to wander around her small town in the dark, and to really realize what a mess she'd made of everything.

She knew she must look awful, because she could feel the swelling of her nose where Sandra had punched her and the hot bruises around her neck where Spike throttled her, and the dried tears crusting on her face in powdery little lines of grief.

She'd tried so hard to do everything right. To do what had to be done to protect Dawn, to protect their mother, from everything. She had felt so grown-up and strong taking care of everyone. But now? She definitely didn't feel like strong protect-o-girl. Buffy felt helpless and alone shuffling down the street in the middle of the night, killing time until Angel could come and get her, and wondering why he even would bother with her in the first place. Sure, he had problems, probably more than the next guy, but he was older and so handsome. Why would he like someone as fucked up as she was? Why would he even give himself the chance to fall in love with her?

On the walk to Willow's house from the boxing ring, Buffy always avoided Xander's street, on the off chance that he would step outside for any of a number of reasons and see her. Tonight, she didn't avoid it. She sought it out - Maple Terrace, home of the Harris family and several others. As Buffy approached her friend's house, rubbing her neck to try to make the feeling of Spike's hand wrapped around her throat go away, she marveled at how different it looked during the night. Most of the times Buffy had been over to Xander's house, it had been during the daytime, to study or just hang out. The bright fire-engine red of the siding seemed black in the dim light from the street lamp, though the white trimming looked almost the same as during the day. Seeing it now, with the carved filigree of the trimming standing out like lace or icing, Buffy thought her friend's house somewhat resembled the gingerbread house from Hansel and Gretel.

Though Buffy didn't think Xander would eat her if she were to go knock on his door, she knew his parents would not be pleased at getting company in the middle of the night. And Mr. Harris would take it out on Xander for the next week. Plus, once Xander got a good look at her injuries and made her tell him what was going on, Buffy was sure her friend would try to talk her out of working for Spike any longer. He might not take Spike's threats very seriously, because Xander didn't even know the guy. Buffy did. If Spike said he was going to hurt someone, they would be hurt in short order, even if he wasn't the one committing the act directly.

So, for Dawn's sake, and in the interest of upsetting neither Xander nor his father, Buffy wandered on. Cursing Sunnydale's lack of size, Buffy eventually found herself outside Willow's house, with plenty of time to spare before Angel would arrive. Might as well keep walking around the block again and again, and work on steeling her resolve. She didn't like the idea of Angel seeing her like this, but she definitely didn't want to cry in front of him. She wasn't weak, damn it! Just, in more trouble than she could handle.

**

Thousands of scenarios bubbled through his mind as Angel drove, noting each landmark in turn and marveling at how much time it seemed to take to get from one to the next. Semi trucks rumbled away from LA, carrying shipping containers on their way who-knows-where and blocking his way as they passed one another at five under the limit. Cursing and trying not to drive off the freeway in his frustration, Angel banged one hand on the steering wheel every few minutes, comforted somewhat by the stinging, almost-numbness in his hand.

**

When Angel pulled up outside Willow's house, Buffy recognized his car and stepped out of the shadows so he could see her. Not that she wanted him to see her, really, but of all the people she knew, he was the one she wanted to be with. He was the one who made her feel ... safe, she guessed. Safe.

She moved towards the car, intending to get in, but Angel jumped out, grabbing her in his arms.

"What happened, Buffy?" he asked, trying to get a good look at her by repositioning her under the streetlight. "What am I supposed to see now that I'm here?"

Instead of responding with words, Buffy felt the stubborn resolve she'd built over the last two hours crumble. Tears and a gasping sob burst forth as she curled into Angel, grasping the lapels of his coat as if to hold herself up with them. Why hadn't she listened to him? Why hadn't she been able to throw that fight? "Why," she whispered through the thickness in her throat, "can't I be what everyone wants me to be?"

"Oh, Buffy," Angel sighed, wrapping his arms around her tightly. Though she had wanted an answer to her question, Buffy found herself relieved that Angel hadn't even tried to fumble for something that didn't exist. He just stood there, holding her and letting her cry.

**

After a few minutes in his arms, Buffy calmed down, eventually letting the truth escape her lips in a series of tired whispers, telling him what had happened. Finally, she ended with, "Thank you for coming, Angel."

"Of course," he replied, kissing her hair gently, and trying not to think too hard about killing Spike, slowly and painfully. "We should really get you home," Angel whispered insistently. "Or to a hospital..."

"I..." she stuttered, finally looking up at him. "I can't go home like this, and I can't face Willow either. I messed everything up. And a hospital is out of the question, because they'd just call the cops."

Nodding with a huff that confessed the fact that Angel didn't like Buffy getting so embroiled in this thing that she couldn't even go to the hospital, he asked, "My place then? You need to rest."

"Yeah," Buffy nodded gratefully. "Your place."

Angel set Buffy in the passenger seat of his car before driving her to his apartment building near the center of town. This late at night, no one was around and somehow, that made Angel feel even more exposed, like anyone could see him bringing this beat up young woman into his apartment. He'd dreamed about showing Buffy into his home, about curling up on the couch with her, about showing her to his bedroom with eager anticipation.

This wasn't how he dreamt it. He hadn't dreamt of leading her up the stairs to his door at three in the morning, both of them tired as hell. He hadn't dreamt of turning on the light to see the extent of her injuries, sickness tightening his stomach when he finally grasped what she'd been through that night. He hadn't dreamt of kneeling in front of her as she sat at his kitchen table and cleaning out the scrapes on her knuckles with antiseptic while Buffy held an ice pack to her ribs and then to her swollen nose.

"Thank you," she whispered, almost awkwardly as he finished, one freshly cleansed hand drifting up to the mottled blue and purple bruises at her neck.

"Don't," Angel murmured, grabbing her fingers to keep them away from her neck. "You'll make it worse."

Nodding, Buffy squeezed his fingers in hers, thanking him again with that simple gesture. Taking another look at her neck, Angel confessed, "I want to kill him for doing that to you."

"Is that just an expression?" she asked him, warily. "Or are you planning on doing something stupid?"

Shaking his head, Angel met her eyes, glad they were on the same level, and replied, "A little of both, I think."

"Don't get in trouble on my account," she sighed, pulling her hand away from Angel's and curling it at her side. It was such vulnerable gesture that Angel couldn't help but wrap his hands around her upper arms and catch her eyes, which he'd finally realized were an enchanting green.

"You're worth anything," he told her, meaning those three little words more than he'd ever meant anything in his entire life. "Any trouble."

He _had _dreamt of Buffy looking at him like that, like there was nothing he could possibly do that was wrong. He _had _dreamt of her throwing herself into his arms like this, full force, and kissing him.

Christ, Buffy was so warm and so strong and so vulnerable, all at once! She knelt on the floor with him, head tilted almost all the way up so his lips could meet hers, smelling like clean sweat and wrist-tape and rubbing alcohol and floral shampoo and something that must have been uniquely her because it knocked at Angel's resolve again and again as they kissed. It made his blood boil and his heart race, as if to spread that weakness of desire through his body as quickly as possible.

And the taste! God, Angel was drowning in that taste! Bright and wet and sweet and perfect.

**

Without really knowing or caring what she was doing, Buffy threw herself at Angel, kissing him desperately because he cared about her. He drove two hours just to pick her up, for heaven's sake. He told her she was worth it. Worth anything.

No one had ever said such things to Buffy. No one had ever held her in his arms and looked into her eyes with such obvious love and desire. It was too much and not enough. She needed Angel. She needed his kisses and his warmth and the way his strong arms wrapped around her, holding her up as his lips crushed against hers.

This kiss felt different from the one's they'd shared before. This was less about flirty fun and more about raw, demanding need to be together. Buffy felt like she just wanted to crawl into this man, to be as close to him as possible, to breathe in the enticing smell of his cologne and feel his warm skin against hers, sharing the same space so she wouldn't feel so desperately afraid and alone.

She hated, more than anything else at this moment, feeling so afraid and so alone.

**

Angel sank into her, this small bundle of pent-up power and frailty in his arms, unable to pull away as her beat-up hands fisted in the cloth at his back. He had no idea what he thought he was doing, but he realized they couldn't stay kneeling on the floor forever, especially with her head tilted uncomfortably like that and him hunched over to close the distance between them. So he stood up, not at all surprised when Buffy followed, preventing him from pulling back, from removing his lips from hers by strong arms thrown around his neck.

He told himself that he was leading Buffy toward the bedroom so he could convince her to get some sleep, but Angel knew his motives weren't so pure. How could they be with Buffy's mouth working against his so desperately, her tongue insistent that he keep kissing her, keep tasting her, keep holding onto her? How could they be when his whole body ached with the overwhelming _need_ to have her, to make her his own?

How could he have done anything differently? How could he have refused her? How could he have done anything besides lie back on his bed and let Buffy come to him, now all grasping fingers and her body resting on his and a pleading whisper of, "Angel…"?

**

Buffy hardly realized that they had moved until Angel lay back on a bed, his eyes hidden in the almost darkness, a quick flash here and there as he waited for her to make a decision, but his hands welcoming as she crawled on top of him, needing that warmth. Feeling the rightness of it, Buffy straddled Angel's hips, pressing her chest against his as she persuaded him into another kiss and then another. She would never get enough of those kisses, so empowering, breathtaking, and heart-fluttering that Buffy felt like she might disintegrate from the beauty of it.

Needing more, needing anything, Buffy pushed urgently at Angel's shirt, angry that it stood between her and all that skin on his chest. Frustrated, she broke her lips away from his and whispered, "Angel…"

"Mmm," he replied, sitting up so Buffy settled in his lap, the heat pooling below her center suddenly pressed against his as he struggled out of his shirt, pulling it over his head and throwing it away. Then, he pulled her even closer with one arms around her waist, holding her there loosely as their lips met again, his other hand ghosting up her side.

She'd been right about all that skin under the cloth, all heat and comforting sensation of smooth life under her hands, the beat of his heart strong and quick. The pace and insistence of that beat matched something Buffy felt all the way to her core – the certain, trembling, rightness of being together.

**

Angel had no idea where or how far this was going, and he was sure he didn't want to know until they got there. All he wanted to know was what would happen if he let his thumb brush the edge of Buffy's breast and whether she would shudder and murmur like that again. Shit, he was far gone, and he couldn't quite drum up the ability to care.

All he cared about was whether Buffy had noticed that slight, unconscious twitch of his hips, and whether the roll of hers in response was deliberate. God, it was! Holy fucking hell, she felt wonderful rocking against him like that, her hands all over his shoulders and back, nails scraping lightly when he brushed her breast more insistently this time.

And when Buffy pulled her shirt off, a simple sports-bra underneath, all Angel could think of was appreciating her beauty in the dim light bouncing in from the living room. She was perfect, and maybe it was because the shadows hid the mottle bruises on her neck and ribs. But Angel knew she was perfect, despite those hurts, because how could this girl, who had stolen his heart so completely, be anything other than utter perfection?

Holding her close again, Angel dipped his lips to the hollow above Buffy's collarbone, needing to taste perfection before the moment faded.

**

Piece after piece of clothing was shed, and Buffy felt bolder than she thought she would have. But after letting Angel see her at her weakest, beaten down and everything falling apart around her, clothes didn't seem so important anymore. They felt more like an impediment to the inevitable, to everything she wanted and needed and couldn't live without.

Like the center of Angel's chest, nearly hairless and completely kissable between the muscles. And the way his stomach muscles met his narrow hips, pointing the way enticingly lower. And the way his shoulders were so broad, but his hips so narrow, just the right size to fit between her thighs. And the way he used his strong legs to hold her close to him, rocking gently against her with only a few layers of thin cloth still separating them. And holy crap it felt nice when he kissed her neck, carefully clear of the bruised parts, teeth scraping ever so lightly.

Buffy couldn't quite remember how it had happened, but she remembered feeling relieved that Angel had protection and that he let her make the decision every step of the way. And suddenly they were _together_.

Still sitting up, chest pressed against Angel's, Buffy let his hands on her hips guide her into movement so slow and heartbreaking and painful in a way that was better than anything ever had been before, like finally feeling complete.

And then the pain blended into rapture as Angel touched her, one gentle but urgent thumb stealing cries from her throat as Buffy buried her face in his neck, arms tightening around his shoulders. Angel felt so steady against her, so constant that she wondered how there could have been anything before this moment.

**

Angel _had_ dreamt of this moment, more than once since he first saw the beautiful girl named Buffy, but he'd never imagined it being this … soul-achingly arresting. He'd never made love like this, like it was meant to be. Slow aching desire, colored with everything he'd ever been and would ever likely be, coming to fruition so suddenly and so unexpectedly _right_ that it almost brought tears to his eyes. _This_ was life, _this_ was love.

And if _this_ – if _she_ – wasn't his forever and always, surely it would destroy him.

* * *

_  
Okay, it's time to tell me what you thought! Please review..._


	9. Friends and Enemies

_A/N: Hey! Just a week and a half later, and a new chapter for you guys. Hope you like it!_

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The Prizefighter Chapter 9 – Friends and Enemies

As the sun rose the next morning, Angel stared up at the ceiling, wide awake and hovering somewhere between elation and sinking dread, the mixture settling heavily in his stomach until he felt sick with it. Buffy was still there, sleeping beside him, and the lighter it got outside, the more he could see the awful bruises on her neck and around her nose. How could he have let last night happen? Angel should just have driven Buffy home instead of bringing her here.

Fuck. This was way too soon. As much as Buffy asked of him, and as much as he wanted to give her, they'd only known each other for a few weeks. For her, especially, it was too soon. She hadn't been ready, he was sure. She'd been hurt and frightened, and he should have known sex wasn't the right answer. Especially since Angel wasn't even sure he was ready for another relationship this ... _intense_. It didn't matter how his heart melted when he looked at Buffy. It didn't matter that he loved her, far too soon, with his entire being. It didn't matter that Buffy acted older than she was. All that mattered was that he'd messed things up. Fuck.

Angel scolded himself for giving in to temptation yet again. He'd never been very good at it, and his years with Darla certainly hadn't helped him learn. He knew this wasn't as bad as some of the things Darla had goaded him into doing over the years, the biggest of which was agreeing to work for her great-uncle, but somehow that made him regret it more. Like it was such a simple thing, sleeping with Buffy, that he should have been able to control himself.

The problem was, it wasn't a simple thing. It was probably the best thing that ever had happened to him, if not also one of the most unfortunate. Angel found himself wishing he could have waited, that he hadn't felt so compelled to give in to what Buffy wanted because she'd been so desperately sad. If only he had waited, the memory wouldn't be forever clouded with the stink of regret and the horror of what had happened to her earlier in the night. Now she would never love him the way he loved her.

Fuck.

Add that to the fact that Buffy's birthday was still two months away, and this one night could be the final nail in his coffin. He knew Buffy wouldn't turn him in, he was sure of that. But what about if her friends found out? Or her family? Generally, when you've already got two strikes against you, it's not a good idea to break the law a third time. Especially when there were even more violations in your sealed records. Such a simple thing, and such a not-so-simple thing, and Angel could be paying for it for a long time. Maybe it would be better if they broke things off?

Angel got up and out of bed quietly, trying not to disturb Buffy. Even if she was expected somewhere, she looked like she needed to sleep for about a week, the bruises even more apparent now that morning light was streaming in through the slats in Angel's blinds, falling over her in stark bright lines of light and dark. Funnily, they reminded Angel of jail cell bars, and he knew he had to get out of here. He had to think, and he had to figure out what he could do to make this up to her. He had to convince her he was a good guy, or he was trying to be a good guy, despite what he had done the night before. He had to try.

So, Angel gathered some clean clothes, took a shower and dressed, made and drank some coffee, and still Buffy slept. God, she looked like she belonged there in his bed, wrapped in his dark red sheets, her skin and hair pale against them, her eyes squinted against the light in her face and her chest rising and falling slowly. Peacefully.

No, he couldn't wake her up. Not yet. Not with apologies to give her and nothing else. So, he wrote a note, placed it on his pillow beside her, and left, a mission in mind.

* * *

When Buffy woke up, it was late in the morning, or maybe early in the afternoon. She couldn't really tell. What she could tell was that she was still in Angel's apartment, sleeping in Angel's bed, wearing only her underwear, and him nowhere to be seen.

"Angel?" she cried out, thinking he must have just been in the next room. She tried to remember how big his apartment was, and she thought she remembered it being fairly small. He should have heard her, so why wasn't he answering?

Buffy pulled her clothes from the floor around the bed and put them on, carefully covering up before Angel came back from wherever he'd gone.

Oh, god! Buffy had instantly remembered why she was here and what had happened, but the reality of the situation struck her suddenly now that she was standing up and dressed. She'd slept with Angel last night! Actual groiny-ness had occurred, and now he was gone. Why? Had it been bad? Had _she_ been bad? Buffy certainly hadn't had any prior experiences, so she had nothing to compare it to, but being with Angel was unlike anything she could have imagined. And about a million times better. She shivered at the memory of his kiss and his hands on her, replaying those few moments over and over again in her mind.

Where the hell was he?

Poking around the apartment, Buffy saw that the shower had been used recently and the pot of coffee was still warm and Angel's long black jacket was nowhere to be seen. Then, trying to find her last sock, Buffy came across Angel's note, accidentally tucked in to the bedclothes.

_Buffy,_

_I had to get some things done, but you looked too sleepy to wake. Stay as long as you like, and I'll talk to you tonight._

– _A_

Well, that even if it was Sunday morning, she knew Angel had that big case he was supposed to be working on. She couldn't fault him for that, right?. Not when he had a son he was trying to get back. Not when Buffy worked odd hours all the time. Not when she really should get back home before Dawn came looking for her.

But what if, just what if, now that she'd slept with him, Angel wanted nothing to do with her? What if the talk tonight was a goodbye? Thanks, and sorry for leading you on, Buffy. Oh, what? You love me? Now, that's just silly. We've only known each other for a few weeks. Besides, how could I ever love someone as fucked up as you? Despite all signs pointing to the fact that I'm just as fucked up.

That couldn't be the case, could it?

* * *

Angel stepped out of his apartment and headed down toward his car, making a call on the way.

"Hullo?" the man on the other end of the line answered, a bit sleepily.

"Hi Doyle. It's Angel."

"Angel!" the Irishman cried. "Thought you were startin' new out in California."

"I am," Angel insisted.

"Then why're you callin' a guy like me? Thought you wanted a clean break."

"I did," Angel insisted. "I do!" Sighning, he explained, "I'm just calling for a little favor."

"Yeah?" Doyle asked, curiosity evident in his voice. "If you're after Darla, can't help you, man. Orders are to keep you in the dark. Boss doesn't want you anywhere near her."

"That's not why I'm calling," Angel insisted. "I just need a contact, and I thought Jimmy might know someone here in Sunnydale. Or even in LA would help."

"What sort of contact? You're not trying to get into trouble, are ya?"

"Just looking for a guy," Angel replied. "Goes by the name of Spike."

"He a blonde fellow? Like to hit things?"

"You've heard of him?" Angel asked, surprised.

"He's been makin' waves up and down the West Coast. Boss 'as been thinkin' about recruitin' him out here to Boston. Don't know what I think about that..."

"I just need to know where to find him during the day. It's for one of my cases," Angel lied.

"You're actually doing the whole Private Eye thing?" Doyle asked, sounding surprised.

"I said I was going to, didn't I?"

"Sure did, Angel," Doyle agreed. "Look, I'll ask around a bit, see if I can find something out for you."

"Don't tell anyone it's for me, okay?"

"Yeah. Don't have a death wish, now do I?" the Irishman chuckled shortly before sighing. "Talk to you soon."

"Okay," Angel agreed, hanging up and starting his car. He'd royally screwed up things with Buffy, letting the night before happen. The least he could do was help her figure out this situation with Spike. If the British blonde was as influential as Doyle led him to believe, then Angel couldn't just make him disappear, as tempting as it was to fall back on his old skill-set. The guy was pretty short. It probably wouldn't even be that hard to get the jump on him, if he was ever alone.

But no! Angel didn't work that way anymore. Not since Darla told him Connor was on the way. Not since he managed to get out from under The Boss. Not since that last... Nope, he still couldn't think about that without getting nauseous. Especially given what had happened to his family, the reason he ended up living with his aunt in Boston to begin with.

He wanted to be a better person. He wanted to be the kind of person Buffy could be proud of being with. He didn't want to be the kind of person who slept with underage girls almost ten years younger than him. He didn't want to be the kind of person whose luck finally gives out and ends up in jail. He didn't want to be the kind of father who never, ever got to see his son.

While waiting for Doyle to call him back, Angel just drove around the city, giving Buffy her space and trying to clear his head. He also might have been trying to convince himself that even though Spike had scared Buffy half to death and left bruises that he could never forgive, Angel couldn't kill the bastard. He had to work within the guy's system, and that meant finding him first.

Finally, Angel's phone rang, and he was disappointed that it wasn't Buffy. "Hey, Doyle. Did you find anything for me?"

"Hey, who's your old pal who always comes through for you?"

"You are, Doyle," Angel replied, caught between smirking and sighing. "Where is he?"

"Runs his day-business out of a family restaurant." Doyle gave Angel the address before warning, "Jimmy says that you shouldn't eat there under any circumstances."

"It's that bad?"

"No, the food tastes fine," Doyle chuckled. "But Spike's paid off the health inspectors to ignore certain … violations."

"Ugh," Angel replied, pulling a face as he took a U-turn to head towards Spike's restaurant. "Thanks for the warning."

"No problem, mate," Doyle replied. "Stay out of trouble?"

"I'll try," Angel promised, "though I don't see me and trouble losing touch anytime soon."

"Shame," Doyle replied. "Kinda liked the thought that one of us got out."

"Thanks," Angel whispered, unsure how to feel about the wistfulness in his old friend's voice.

"Cheers," Doyle replied, and the line went dead.

* * *

Buffy gathered her things and stepped into Angel's bathroom, trying to calm her fears by inspecting his things and trying not to catch her reflection in the mirror. She managed to use the toilet, wash her hands, wash her face, and rinse her mouth out with the mouthwash she found under the sink before finally taking a deep breath and letting her eyes drift upward.

Instantly, she wished she hadn't. Buffy groaned, "Oh, this is so not of the good," as her gaze darted over the dark creases under her eyes, radiating from her possibly broken nose, her scraggly hair, and the purple bruises on her neck. God, she looked like a war victim, or like she'd been made up for a TV-movie about the dangers of domestic violence. Shit.

Hands shaking and really wishing Angel was still there to tell her it would be okay, Buffy found her phone and called Willow.

"Buffy!" the redhead answered, her voice at once relieved, chastising, and just plain enthusiastic. "Are you okay? You never came by."

"I texted you and told you I was going home."

"Well, yeah," Willow replied. "But Dawn called me, looking for you."

"She did?" Buffy asked, suddenly hyperventilating. "Please tell me you covered for me?"

"What are best friends for?" Willow replied. "Even though I've been worried half to death for the past five minutes. Why didn't you answer when Dawn called you?"

"I must have still been asleep," Buffy replied, making sure she had everything before picking up Angel's note, moving it to his kitchen table so he would know she'd seen it.

"Speaking of," Willow replied, "where _did_ you sleep?"

"Well…" Buffy began, wondering how much she should tell her best friend. "Um…"

"Do you have a boyfriend?" Willow shrieked in her ear as Buffy left Angel's apartment, closing the door and hoping he didn't have anything particularly valuable, since she had no way to lock it.

"Shh!" Buffy scolded her friend. "I'll have to tell you about it when I get there."

"You're coming by?"

"Well, yeah," Buffy said, setting out on refreshed feet toward Willow's house. "I can't go home looking like I do. You're parents are out by now, right?"

"Yeah," Willow muttered. "They're driving down to some talk in LA. A philosopher or something."

"They still have those?" Buffy asked happily, her mood growing lighter and lighter as she spoke to her friend. "I thought philosophers were an Ancient Greece sort of occupation."

"I guess not," Willow replied. "I'll see you when you get here?"

Buffy agreed and hung up, calling her sister right away again. "Hey, Dawnie. I'm sorry I missed your call."

"Why did you stay out all night?" Dawn asked, accusing and worried only the way a sibling can be.

"I got too tired at Willow's last night. I had to stay. Were you okay by yourself?"

"Yeah," Dawn scoffed. "But I'm a little lonely."

"I have to go back to Willow's," Buffy told her sister regretfully. "I forgot my wallet," she lied, buying time to get cleaned up and made up before anyone but her best friend saw her. "I'll be home soon. Why don't you call over a friend? Or Xander?"

"Think we could all go to a movie later?" Dawn asked hopefully and Buffy couldn't help but agree to the plan, eager to spend some time with her sister.

When she got to Willow's house, though, Buffy wondered how the hell she could show her face anytime in the next century. "Oh, boy," Willow cringed as she opened the door. "This is _bad_, Buffy."

"I know," the boxer nodded, pushing her way into the house and leading Willow back to the girl's bedroom.

"Was this because of the fight last night?" Willow asked, worry in her voice and in the crinkling of her eyebrows.

"Yeah, the fight," Buffy insisted, sitting down on her friend's bed and once again, avoiding looking into the mirror. This one sat accusingly over Willow's vanity table, which hadn't gotten much use until Buffy's first underground fight. Now, it was littered with different vials of makeup, used brushes and sponges, and ready-to-be-used bandages.

"And your neck!" Willow exclaimed, turning on her desk lamp to get a better look. "What happened, Buff? Where were you last night?"

"If you can imagine," Buffy cringed, silently grateful for how nonjudgmental Willow was being, "it was even worse last night. I couldn't even face you, Wills."

"So, who were you with?"

"This guy…" Buffy sighed, wondering how she could ever explain to Willow everything Angel had grown to mean to her in such a short period of time. "I have a boyfriend, apparently."

"Apparently?" Willow chuckled, rummaging through the drawers of her vanity. "You're not sure? And why is this the first I'm hearing of said boyfriend? You stayed the night at his place?"

"Geez, Will," Buffy sighed with a little smile as her best friend found a package of wipes and began cleaning off Buffy's face. "One question at a time, huh?"

"Oh god," Willow gasped, pulling away so she could meet Buffy's eyes, "_he_ didn't do this to you, did _he_?"

"No way! This was the fight, I promise," Buffy insisted, taking her friend's hand and directing it back to her wounded face to continue the treatment. "And _his_ name is Angel."

"Angel?" Willow snorted, following Buffy's direction to continue. "Alright, next question. How long has this thing with _Angel _been going on?"

Buffy answered Willow's questions about Angel one at a time, telling their story to her friend, sick with the worry that once Willow knew all the facts, she'd freak out. Buffy even left out the part about waking up alone, and what that might mean? Would a guy that didn't even want to be there when she woke up qualify as boyfriend material? She could say something, and count on Willow to tell her she was being crazy. But Buffy didn't want to take the chance that Willow would tell her Buffy was an idiot and how could she ever expect Willow to approve?

"Well, I can't say I approve," Buffy's friend said, confirming the suspicion that she wouldn't be on board with the romantic development that was Buffy and Angel. "Especially not sleeping with him so _soon_, Buffy. Are you okay with that?"

"I don't know, Wills," Buffy sighed, knowing deep in her stomach that Willow was right and the night before, while mind-blowingly pleasant, had been too much, too soon. Way too much, really. Skipping about ninety-billion steps that every chick-flick ever liked to lay out for a person. "I don't _hate_ that it happened, by any means. And I think I love him."

"I just…" Willow huffed, looking away and taking a deep breath. "I just want better for you than this. I don't want to keep patching you up over and over again, inside and outside, you know?"

"I know," Buffy whispered, nodding.

Willow returned to tending her patient, breaking the silence after a few minutes by saying, "You'd better hope your mom never finds out about this."

"I think she's got bigger things to worry about," Buffy insisted, helping Willow apply the thick concealer over all of her scrapes and bruises, including the rapidly greening ones around her neck. "And speaking of, I should get back to Dawn post-haste."

"Wanna ride? My dad left his car in the garage today."

"Yeah," Buffy nodded, suddenly so overwhelmed with gratitude that she grabbed her friend in a tight, rib-crushing hug.

"Whoa, girl," Willow choked out with a laugh. "Can't breathe!"

Loosening her hold into something more appropriate, Buffy told her friend, "I don't know how to thank you enough, Willow. You're the best friend I could ever have."

"I accept gifts," Willow pointed out with a laugh as Buffy pulled back, the two girls sharing an understanding smile before they left the house.

* * *

Angel approached the restaurant, at one end of a strip mall, and gathered his composure. It had been almost a year since he'd walked into a situation this dangerous, and he'd never done so alone. It was stupid, but he couldn't walk away. He couldn't do less than his best when it came to protecting Buffy. He wouldn't.

So, with one last deep breath, Angel pushed open the glass-paned aluminum front door and entered the building. When the hostess asked him if he'd like a seat, Angel ignored her, making his way back toward the kitchens despite her protests. He knew where the back room would be, solely due to his experience getting into and out of these places. He walked quickly through the kitchen, ignoring the angry protests that followed in his wake, and stepped through a door marked, 'Office.'

Without stopping, Angel walked through the office and past a big guy at the desk, opening the door at the far end of the tiny room to find himself in a large, windowless space. It was filled with tables and those tables were filled with cash, money counting machines, and a bevy of workers to run the machines.

"Oi!" A voice cried out from the middle of the room as the large man from the office huffed in after Angel, and there was the blonde man, Spike. He stood up from his chair at one of the tables and rounded it to get directly in Angel's face, asking, "What the fuck do you think you're doing in here?"

Angel could tell that the Brit was trying to look intimidating, but the private eye had four inches and probably twenty pounds of muscle on Spike, and wasn't intimidated by him in the least. He _was _intimidated by the sound of a gun being cocked and pressed against the back of his head. Putting his hands up in surrender, Angel said as clearly as he could, "I'm just here to talk."

Spike sniffed derisively before asking, "Why should I listen?"

Then, a voice piped up from across the room, "Angel? Is that you, guy?" When the private eye let his eyes flash over to that corner of the room, he recognized the clerk.

"Yeah, Clem," he replied, hoping for a little assistance getting the gun away from the base of his skull, "it's me."

"Angel?" Spike laughed. "What a poncey … Hold on a sec," he grinned, baring his sharp eyeteeth and pointing a finger at Angel. "You the same Angel that ran with the O'Learys out in Boston?"

Angel felt like denying his past, but he knew his old reputation could only help him here, so he gave Spike a sharp nod.

"Bloody hell!" the man crowed, a grin breaking over his face. "What's a bloke like you doin' here? I heard you were outta the business, so to speak."

"I was," Angel insisted. "I _am_."

Spike nodded again, his grin settling into a smirk as he said, "Good. Cause I'm all full up with enforcers. You'd have to go back to Boston, you want your old job back."

"I'm just here about one of your fighters," Angel insisted, knowing full well that he'd never work for a man this … infuriating. And he definitely couldn't even think about what this man had done to Buffy the night before, or he might start something he couldn't finish, like trying to beat the blonde to death, and get himself killed for his troubles.

"Is that so?" Spike drawled, sitting down on the table behind him and casually swinging his legs. "Which one?"

Trying to keep the growl out of his voice, Angel replied, "Buffy."

Spike's smirk disappeared suddenly and he stood up, on guard. Sniffing again, like he wanted Angel to think he didn't care, the blonde asked, "What about 'er?"

"What would it take to get her out?"

"Out?" Spike asked, dropping his guard a bit and pondering the question. "Chit owes me more than her fair share of money after what she fucking pulled on me last night."

Angel nodded, watching the man work through his thoughts for a moment before suggesting, "I could fight in her place."

"No doubt that you _could_, mate," Spike agreed, poking one of Angel's biceps with a harsh finger. "But I'm full up on male fighters, yeah? People wanna see the bints goin' at it and you've got the wrong equipment for that job, don't ya?"

"So, what then? What's it going to take to convince you to let her go?"

Spike tilted his head and pursed his lips, keeping his eyes on Angel for a long few moments, apparently thinking over the question. Eventually, he said, "Need a real good fight. Somethin' to draw the crowds, yeah? Your girl makes me back the hundred thou I lost, with interest, and then we'll see."

"'We'll see,' isn't good enough," Angel insisted with a growl, taking a step forward before he remembered he was surrounded by men with guns. "I want a solid deal."

"Well, you can make the money some other way," the blonde insisted, stepping up and trying to intimidate Angel again. "But it ain't gonna be won at my tables. Yeah?"

Angel fumed at the man silently, fantasies of breaking this bastard's neck flitting through his head as he tried to think. "What kind of fight?" he asked harshly. "What kind of fight would draw the crowds?"

"Well, see," Spike started, a feral grin splitting his lips, "I've had this idea for awhile. Problem is, can't get anyone to go up for it, yeah?"

"What idea?" Angel asked, cringing at what the answer might be.

"Four-on-one," Spike replied, watching Angel's face closely, like he wanted to catch his expression of surprise.

But Angel knew better than to let his emotions show in front of this man, schooling his expression into one of uncompromising stoicism, despite the way his brain screamed in complaint over Spike's "idea." How could he let Buffy do something like that? How could he put her in such danger? Four against one? She could get brutally injured, or even die, quicker than anyone could stop it from happening. There was just no way.

Spike watched for a few moments before elaborating, "Chit wins a fight like that, against the odds? I make a lot of cash."

"And if she loses?" Angel felt himself sweating with the strain of keeping a straight face.

"If she loses," Spike purred, stepping even closer and brushing something from Angel's shoulder with his hand, "then she'll keep fighting. Long as Buffy can stand in the ring, she'll fight."

"I'll do it," the private detective insisted. "I'll fight that fight."

"Ah, but see?" Spike whispered, eyeing Angel with a conspiratorial grin. "Anyone gets wind of your former profession? They'll start betting on you, mate. And I won't make a cent."

Feeling his control quickly slipping away, Angel snarled, "She'll let you know."

"Right then," the blonde nodded, stepping back and beckoning a finger at one of his men. "Make sure you find your way out, Angel. And don't even think of coming back here unless you're invited."

Angel scoffed and turned, leaving the same way he'd arrived, walking quickly but casually to show that self-important prick he wasn't scared in the least. If anything, he was scared for Buffy, for what she might have to do, for the price of her freedom.

* * *

_What do you think? Please leave a review, especially if you have any comments about Angel and Buffy's reactions to the events of last chapter. Thanks for reading!_


	10. Disease

_A/N: I'm still working on this story, so don't worry. I know it's been almost two months, but I've got five stories open and all of them are suffering as far as post-frequency goes. Also, I've revised the previous chapter since most of you read it. __**Please go back and reread Chapter 9**__. Thanks._

* * *

The Prizefighter

Chapter 10 – Disease

"No, Dawn! Wait!" Buffy cried with a chuckle as her sister hurried ahead of her and Xander in the excitement to get a table at the diner where Xander promised them milkshakes and French fries. Most of the other movie goers must have had a similar idea, as a big portion of the crowd exiting the theater headed across the plaza courtyard to the restaurant. Dawn pushed her way past and through all of them, smiling back at them every so often. Buffy wanted to smile and shake her head like Xander was doing, but a little stab of fear ruined the moment. There were so many ways Dawn could just disappear and Buffy couldn't do anything about it.

Dawn was still safe, wasn't she? Even though Buffy had really messed up during the fight the night before, as long as Buffy kept playing along with Spike, her sister was still safe, right?

"She's turning into quite the spitfire, isn't she?" Xander asked Buffy with a broad, toothy smile. She was glad for his steady company. Right now, that seemed like his best quality. No matter what happened, Xander had always been there with a joke or a kind word or a smile. Buffy had so few real friends, it made all of them all that more important. If only she didn't have to hide so much from him. Including the new probably-a-boyfriend.

"Turning into?" Buffy chuckled at Xander's question, watching Dawn claim a table through the diner's windows, waving safely from behind the glass. "Where have you been the past two years?"

"Blind, I guess," Xander replied, holding open the diner door and ushering Buffy through the crowd of people. Buffy hated when he did things like this, treating her like a girl, like a date. She hated even more the fact that he would pay for their food, but he had offered and Dawn had accepted for the both of them. Though she was younger, Dawn knew full well how strapped for cash her family was. If Xander wanted to treat Dawn to a milkshake, who was Buffy to ruin the fun? Who was Buffy to refuse help from a friend when she so desperately needed it?

When Dawn saw them making their way to the booth she'd picked out, she called out, "What took you guys so long? Were you making out or something?"

"Shut it, pipsqueak," Buffy threatened with a smiling huff. When would her sister realize that Buffy and Xander were _never_ going to be a thing? Especially not now that Buffy had Angel. Could she say that? Did she _have _him? Unwilling in any case to be held hostage by her own flesh and blood, Buffy shoved Dawn further down on her bench so the blonde could sit next to her sister, safely across from Xander.

Oh, it wasn't like Xander was at all aggressive about what he obviously still felt about Buffy. He hadn't brought it up since asking Buffy out and getting shot down. But he still did things like hold open doors and pay for milkshakes and watch Buffy with this hopeful little expression, like he was waiting for her to change her mind anytime now. If he wasn't such a good friend otherwise, Buffy would have stopped spending time with him because of it.

As it was, Buffy had a lot of fun in that diner booth, joking around with Xander and Dawn, laughing when Dawn blew her straw wrapper into the boy's face, forgetting for just an hour how messed up her life was under the surface. When those secret hours bubbled to the surface with a phone call and Buffy saw it was Angel, her mood brightened even further.

"Hey!" she answered the phone, leaving the booth and waving for Dawn and Xander to stay put. Leaving the diner to stand and talk out in the late afternoon California sun, Buffy said, "I'm so glad you called."

"Good," Angel said with what Buffy thought was a relieved chuckle. "I was afraid you'd be mad about this morning … or last night."

"No," Buffy told him right away. "No mad-feelings here. You?"

"Definitely not," he insisted, and Buffy shivered at the force of his whispering voice, remembering moments from the night before fondly. But then, breaking into her thoughts, Angel said, "I'd like to take you to dinner tonight. Can we make that happen?"

"Yeah!" Buffy breathed in excitement, before the implications of dinner out together really hit her. Going out meant being _seen_ together. "Where would we go?"

"There's this restaurant in Oxnard I like. Can I take you there?" Angel asked, his voice sounding tight with anxiety.

"Oxnard?" Buffy asked, a smile creeping onto her lips. The town was maybe twenty minutes away, and no one would know them there. "That's perfect!"

"Oh, good," Angel sighed in relief. "It's not too far to go on a school night?"

"Screw it being a school night," Buffy said. "It's not like my mom's home to check up on me."

Angel sighed again, "Are you sure?"

"Sure I'm sure," Buffy insisted, noticing through the window that Dawn and Xander were leaving the booth and headed her way. "I have to get going. When and where should I meet you?"

"I can't pick you up?"

"And leave my sister a perfect opportunity to molest you with questions? I don't think so, Angel."

He laughed and told her which restaurant to meet him at, a pizza place called Tino's, and when.

Curling in on herself to shield her voice and crushed-out expression as her sister and friend approached, Buffy ended the call by saying, "I can't wait. Bye."

"Goodbye, Buffy," Angel replied, and the girl would have called him back on the line, just to hear him say something else, if she hadn't had an audience.

"Who was that?" Dawn asked, sticking her nose where it didn't belong, like always.

"No one," Buffy lied, stowing her phone securely in her jeans pocket.

Raising one eyebrow, Dawn called her bluff, "Bullcrap! You've got a boyfriend, don't you?"

"Boyfriend?" Xander asked, acting completely surprised.

"Well, why not?" Buffy asked, a little miffed at her friend's reaction. "I'm allowed to have a personal life, aren't I?"

"Who is it?" Xander asked, getting with the program all of a sudden. "Do I know him? Does he go to our school?"

"His name is Angel," Buffy replied, carefully picking out her lies and trying to remember them, so she could tell the same lies to everyone. "You don't know him. He goes to UC Sunnydale."

"A college boy!" Dawn cried, grabbing Buffy's hand to lead her back toward their house a few blocks over. "What's he like?"

Frowning, Xander asked, "How old is he?"

"Nineteen," Buffy let the lie roll off her tongue easily. Nineteen was reasonable, right? He could be just a little over a year older than her. Instead of the eight years he actually was. "And he's … nice," Buffy said. She couldn't tell them about how he'd saved her from those men, she couldn't tell them about how concerned he was for her safety, and she couldn't tell them how safe he made her feel. He was, "Just … nice."

"When do I get to meet him?" Dawn prodded, her list of questions never ending. Geez, you'd think nobody in the history of the world had ever dated anyone else with how fascinated Dawn seemed to be with the whole prospect. "Is he cute?"

Sighing under the pressure of the questions, Buffy answered, "Yes, he's cute. And you don't get to meet him. Not yet. I don't want him knowing I've got a mutant for a sister."

"Hey!" Dawn protested, while Buffy turned to Xander, expecting him to laugh.

Instead, he looked a little lost and said, "I'll head home, I guess. See you tomorrow, Buff."

"Yeah, tomorrow," Buffy agreed softly, letting Dawn tug her away and pepper her with more questions. She answered them as truthfully as she could, because Buffy already knew how difficult it was to remember to tell the same lie twice. And, most of her brain was pondering how hurt Xander had seemed. Buffy thought they were past this, but Xander must have been waiting for her to come around. Hadn't she made it clear that it was never going to happen?

Now, not only did she have to worry about being indebted to a psycho and dating a twenty-five year old who would probably want to sleep with her again soon, which she wasn't sure was a good idea, but also about losing one of her best friends. Fan-freaking-tastic.

* * *

In the few hours Angel had left to kill before he met Buffy for dinner, there was one other name stuck on his brain. Jeff Gages. What was his link to the company competing with Baguley's firm? What was the name again? Heartstone Industries. It was Sunday, so he couldn't go in and ask around, ask if anyone knew Gages, and all the civil records rooms in City Hall were closed. That left one resource, and it was the one Angel was the most clueless about.

Sitting in an internet café, drinking an overpriced and over-sugared coffee, Angel wrestled with the internet. He hated it, hated everything about the computer sitting in front of him. The bright screen, the tiny little keys, the grungy mouse-thing, all of them mocked him and his fumbling efforts to use them. But, he had to figure out who Jeff Gages was, and who the man was connected to. As he sat there, doing search after search, Angel realized that if he wanted to be a private eye in the twenty-first century, he would probably have to invest in one of these things for his office. Fuck.

After several hours of pigeon-pecking the keyboard and printing out pages at fifteen cents each (Damn, it! How could he get this fucking thing to stop printing?), Angel found out that Gages had a relative in Sunnydale. A cousin named Rose Johnson. And where searches of "Jeffery Gages and Heartstone Industries" came up with nothing, "Rose Johnson and Heartstone Industries" came up with several hits. Most of them were yearly updates to the company's directory (Rose had been working there since at least 1998), but a few were promotion and award announcements. Rose had been moving up the food chain, it seemed.

Angel thought he might know how she was pulling it off. Especially since, according to a horrific 'social networking' site, for three years in the early 1990s, Rose Johnson and Jeffery Gages had attended the same high school, after Jeff transferred from Denver. Angel was willing to bet Jeff had lived with his aunt and uncle, and his cousin Rose, for those three years.

Vowing to look into it more deeply the next day, Angel collected his papers and closed all his browsers – as the placards posted every foot or so around the room instructed – and left. He had a date to get ready for.

* * *

Because he was nervous, Angel ended up getting to the restaurant early. Eighteen minutes early, damn it. He must have driven down the 101 faster than was really wise. Oh well. This way, he could be calm and collected when Buffy showed up. God, please let her show up. She'd sounded game over the phone, so that was a good sign. But what if she really thought it over again? What if she realized he was a mistake? He had to talk to her again, so he could get her safe. He had to ... kiss her again! He _had to._

There! Was that her Jeep pulling up? It was!

Jumping out of his car, Angel met Buffy at hers, hesitating for just a moment before dipping to press his lips to hers with a shy, "Hi, Buffy," as he retreated.

She just had to turn that dazzling smile on him, didn't she? "Hi, Angel," and then she was pressed into his arms and Angel wasn't sure if he'd pulled or if she had pushed. When their lips met for the second time that night, he decided it didn't matter. She looked a lot better than she had the night before, her bruises and cuts cleverly hidden with makeup and a jaunty scarf that matched her sweater. He was used to seeing her at fights, after fights, and he'd thought her stunning then. But now, dressed up just for him? Angel couldn't blink. He knew he was staring, a stupid smile on his face, but he just couldn't stop.

"Should we eat?" Buffy said with a breathless chuckle when she pulled back from him, stealing Angel's breath as she went. Yep, he was definitely far gone. It was so dangerous, falling for her. And Angel realized maybe that was part of the appeal.

"Yeah," Angel breathed, taking her hand with a smile and leading her into the restaurant.

As they were seated and the hostess left, Angel said, "Sorry I had to leave this morning."

"It's alright," Buffy blushed. "I'm glad you left the note."

"I'm glad you found the note." After a few moments, Angel realized he was staring at the girl across from him, everything else fading away again. If only he could just ... stay there forever. Not having to worry about money and cases and laws and British bastards and parents and sons. Just there, with Buffy.

"Angel?" Buffy asked, startling him out of his thoughts. Looking up, he realized that the waiter was waiting for something from him. An order? That must be it. He ordered something, he didn't really notice what, and waited for the man to leave before taking a sip of water to clear his parched throat. How to start?

Just as Angel nodded to himself and started, "About Spike," Buffy said, "About last night..."

"Huh?" he asked, thrown off of his train of thoughts. "Last night? Are you okay?" Damn it. He knew he'd fucked up, he knew it. Now she was going to break things off. This was a pity date, wasn't it?

"Yeah," Buffy assured him, patting his hand in a way that did little to dispel the fear that she was doing this out of pity. "I'm better than okay, Angel." The girl looked down at her plate, blushing.

Still concerned, Angel asked, "You're sure?"

"I'm not saying," she sighed, "that it should happen again anytime soon. But I'm not sorry it happened."

"Oh," Angel blinked. 'Not anytime soon' wasn't 'never', not even close. There was some hope. "Yeah, good. Me, too."

Quirking one eyebrow and leaning closer across the table, Buffy asked, "Did you say something about Spike?"

Answering slowly because he didn't understand Buffy's expression, Angel nodded, "Yeah. I talked to him today."

"You _talked _to him?" the girl cried, her hand hitting the table a little too hard and rattling the silverware. When people at the neighboring tables looked over, Buffy dropped her eyes sheepishly. After a few seconds, when the other diners had resumed their conversations, Buffy looked up again, her eyes blazing. "Do you know how dangerous that was?" she asked in a bare whisper. "Do you know how much trouble you could have gotten me in? Pulling crap like that could make him go after my sister! Or my mom!"

"I know," Angel replied, keeping his voice low and as steady as possible. "I know it was dangerous and stupid. But I know how to talk to guys like Spike."

The girl leaned back in her chair and frowned. Oh, great. "Look, Buffy," Angel continued sternly, "I found out what it's going to take to get you out. It's a long shot and it's dangerous, but just one more fight and you could be done with that prick forever."

Eyes softening with hope, but still steeled against him, Buffy asked. "One fight? What's the catch?"

Angel explained about the four-on-one fight, carefully watching Buffy's face as her frown deepened and her eyes grew wider. When he was done, the girl sighed, "That's quite the catch. It's impossible, Angel. I'm going to be fighting in Spike's arena forever."

"I'll help you train for it, alright?" Angel insisted. "I know this kind of fight, and since Spike won't let me take your place, I'll work with you until you can win, no problem."

"You did that?" Buffy asked him, her voice high and surprised. "Offered to fight in my place?"

Angel couldn't tell how Buffy felt about his offer to Spike. Watching her face, he came to the conclusion that she was either touched, or pissed. Playing the odds, Angel nodded slowly. "He wouldn't go for it, though. Said he wouldn't make as much money."

Buffy nodded and they sat in silence for a minute, Angel trying to think of something to say that would convince her to take his help, to take this fight. When he'd gotten to something half-decent, Buffy interrupted his thoughts and dissolved all his well-thought out words by saying, "I hate this," as she threw her torn-up breadstick down onto her plate.

"We could go somewhere else," Angel suggested. "It's no problem, really."

"What?" Buffy asked, meeting his eyes for a moment before a slight smile crept onto her lips. Angel would never get used to seeing all the different ways Buffy could smile. "No, I mean I hate being in this situation. I hate needing your help and dragging you into this."

"I don't mind," he whispered, meeting the girl's eyes and taking her hand on the table.

"And how exactly do you 'know' this kind of fight?" Buffy demanded. "Who _are _you?"

That was the question, wasn't it? Who could Angel tell Buffy he was without scaring her off completely? What could he say? What would she understand? "I, uh ..." Angel tried to respond, cringing at her unforgiving, but still somehow beautiful, frown. "You know how I said I ran with the wrong crowd before I moved here?"

Buffy nodded silently, waiting for him to continue.

"Well, I ended up working for a guy ... shit," he breathed, knowing he had to tell the truth now that it was half out, despite how difficult it was to find the words. "For a bad guy. There were ... scuffles with people who worked for other bad guys."

Looking sick to her stomach and nodding grimly, the girl asked, "Did you ever hurt a good guy?"

"No," Angel shook his head vehemently. "No, I always refused to do it. After what happened with my ..." Fuck, he'd almost said it out loud.

"Your what?" Buffy prodded, staring at him like she needed to know. "Your car? Your dog? Your-"

"My family!" Angel blurted out, just to stop her from guessing before she came to that awful truth. "They were killed. A long time ago. I don't like talking about it."

"Ah," Buffy nodded, a look of understanding flashing through her eyes before they dropped down to the table again.

"Anyway," Angel sighed, shoving down the memories of that horrible night, "I left all of that behind when I moved here. I'm trying to be a good man, Buffy. You have to believe that."

"I do!" she insisted, suddenly very intense. "I know all about trying to be better. Before my mom got sick, I really was trying to do everything right."

Angel's heart softened at the pleading frustration in her voice. She understood, at least somewhat. Buffy was probably one of very few people who _could _understand why he had done the things he had done. "So, will you let me help you, Buffy? Let me use what I got out of that part of my life for something good?"

The food arrived at that point and as soon as the waiter left again, Buffy asked, "Can I think about it for awhile? I'm thinking right now I really could just use some good food and some good company. D'you feel up to that, Angel?"

"Yeah," he nodded with a smile, letting out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Buffy still wanted to be here, she wanted his company. She hadn't run screaming, so that had to be a good thing.

"Oh, do that again!" the girl cried with a brilliant grin. Angel raised his eyebrows at her in confusion and felt his face grow hot with a blush. Those words out of context boiled his blood and brought to mind so many things he could do to coax them from Buffy's lips again. "You really should smile more. You know?"

Smiling at her again, Angel silently thanked God that she had broken the tense atmosphere between them. "I know," he said, wanting things with her to always be more like this, more about smiling and less about violence. "I'm finding it happens a lot more often since I met you."

* * *

The next morning, Buffy met Willow in the library for a last-minute homework-getting-done cram session before class started. Her redheaded friend was all about her getting the work done until Buffy, needing to hear a second opinion, told her about the conversation she'd had with Angel. Well, conversations.

"How is that even possible?" Willow asked about the fight Spike had proposed. "Isn't that just asking to get killed?"

"Angel said he'll help me figure it out," Buffy insisted, "but I don't know either, Will. Then again, if I don't do this … I'll never be free."

"Are you sure it will help?" Willow asked, finally setting down her pen to give Buffy her full attention. "Spike could be threatening you and your family forever."

"Hey, bright side," Buffy cried with mock enthusiasm. "If I die during the fight, I won't have to worry about it anymore!"

"Don't talk like that, Buffy!" Willow whispered harshly, and Buffy laughed to herself at Willow's stubborn adherence to the rules of the library. It _was_ like her favorite place ever. "And I don't like how much this plan relies on this guy. I know you like him, Buffy," Willow cut in when the blonde tried to protest. "I just think you need to be more careful."

"And I'm not?" Buffy hissed. "That's all I am these days. Careful-girl. No time for Carefree-girl. Not unless I do this. And even then, with mom still in the hospital…"

"It's just –" Willow sighed. "He's twenty-five, Buffy. He might as well be forty!"

"Ew!" Buffy cried, smacking her friend's arm and smiling when Willow grinned, showing she'd only been teasing. Then, when someone cleared his throat, both girls looked up and let their smiles fade. Oh, crap. "Xander?" Buffy asked her friend carefully. "Hey, Xand. Ready for a week full of learnin'?"

Brows pursed up in concern and frown firmly in place, Xander asked, "Your boyfriend's not nineteen, is he Buffy?"

Knowing she'd been caught, the blonde shook her head slowly, hating to see what Xander's reaction would be. As if he had any right to be angry about one little lie…

"And you don't work for a telemarketing firm, do you?"

Shit! How much had he heard? The furious and worried look on his face argued otherwise, so Buffy came clean and shook her head again. This was the bigger issue, wasn't it? Keeping this huge part of her life away from one of her best friends. They wouldn't survive it, would they? Yet another thing Buffy couldn't help but screw up.

Turning to Willow, his voice trembling with betrayal, Xander asked, "And you knew about all this?"

The wide, brimming-with-tears eyes told the truth more vividly than any words could have. God, there was another thing Buffy had ruined. That's it. She was a disease, infecting anyone she came in contact with, spreading lies and betrayal. At least Angel already had all those secrets of his own. Shit, he was probably immune to the life-destroying effect being with Buffy could have. Hopefully.

Now Xander would surely hate her. He knew everything – well, all the important pieces, anyway. And, he could do _anything_ with that information. He probably was that pissed off, wasn't he? Quickly, Buffy jumped up from her seat and grabbed Xander's arm. "Please, Xand! Don't tell anyone about the fights. If I don't follow through with this, they'll kill Dawn. Please?"

Jerking his arm out of Buffy's grasp, Xander frowned for a few more anxious breaths before nodding. "Alright. For Dawn's sake, I'll keep my gob shut. But, I don't think I can be friends with you anymore, Buff. Not while you're involved in something this … heinous. Okay?"

"No!" Buffy cried, getting around in front of the boy as he tried to leave the library. "Not okay! Very not okay, Xand! I'm still the same Buffy as I've always been!"

"Maybe that's the problem," Xander sighed, pushing his way past her and out the room.

Gaze whipping back to Willow's in silent apology, Buffy wondered how the hell her life could get any worse. Everyone was abandoning her. Her dad left, her mom was sick, and now Xander was leaving. It had to be some sort of disease. It had to be.

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_As always, reviews are appreciated._


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